


Negatives

by the_diversionist



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Amber Price, F/F, Maximum Victory - Freeform, Price Chase, Victory Marsh, pricefield
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-27
Updated: 2016-05-03
Packaged: 2018-04-28 09:02:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 19
Words: 52,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5085916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_diversionist/pseuds/the_diversionist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snapshots of Max and company fumbling their way through different realities. No chronological order. Many pairings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Love At The End Of The World pt 1

They lace hands and watch the storm tear through Arcadia Bay. Water and dirt, clumps of grass and debris shriek through the grey skies. The earth feels as if it is cracking. Arcadia Bay pulls apart like tissue paper. They scream words at one another in the wind.

_Oh, my God, Max, are you sure this is right? I’m not worth this!_

_You’re worth everything!_ _I won’t lose you. If I do, all of this will have been for nothing!_

Chloe yanks Max into her arms. They hold tightly to one another and squeeze their eyes shut as if to wish the destruction away.

*

They make their way down the mountain. The air smells of ocean water. The storm is gone, along with Arcadia Bay. Chloe’s face is pale and strained. “Holy shit, Max, look at this. The truck’s still in one piece. Can you fucking believe it?” She trots to it, gives it a look over and yanks on the door. It pulls open. “Ready to get the hell out of here?”

“Hell yes.” But she feels lightheaded and foggy. She worries she’ll be pulled through another photograph, that this is another temporary reality, that she’ll wake, once again in Mark fucking Jefferson’s sicko dark room. She’s escaped that reality, now she’s got to live in this one. She touches her nose gingerly. No blood.

She climbs into the truck, slamming the door shut. It’s quiet. Max pulls the seatbelt on while Chloe pats her pockets, pulling out the keys. She jams them into the ignition, her usual sense of urgency out of place in the stillness. “Fuck, I could really go for a joint right now.”

“Yeah, me too, I think.” Max tries to force a smile into her voice. “All in good time, girlfriend.”

“Maybe I have cigarettes.” She digs through the drink holders before reaching around to the glove compartment. She comes up empty. “Fuck it.” She starts the truck and Max takes a breath of relief. Why does she want to puke?

*

The truck rumbles past the desiccated town. Blackwell Academy is no more. The junkyard is junkier than usual. Cars are flipped over everywhere. The houses look like the Big Bad Wolf blew them down. _If by the Big Bad Wolf you mean you, Max._ She can’t think about it.

Chloe drives, a far away expression on her face. Max remembers that same face when William died, when they found Rachel Amber, the day she discovered Rachel Amber and Frank were a thing, when she was in that wheelchair, asking Max to end her life. The day Jefferson blew her brains out. Max squints her eyes, surprised she has the energy for tears.

“Hey, you okay? We need to pull over?” She searches the terrain for somewhere suitable but there’s debris everywhere.

“No, keep driving.”

“You sure?”

“I’m positive.”

“That one of your geeky camera jokes?”

It wasn’t but she goes for it. “That’s a negative.”

“Har har. Don’t give up your day job, Max. Hey—this light. This is your photographer time, isn’t it? The golden—what was it. Time? Hour?”

“So you _can_ listen to me.” She pulls the camera from her bag, surprised that it’s still intact and lifts it up to Chloe.

“Not now, Max. All right? I mean it.”

_Remember: always take the shot._ A shiver runs down her spine. Max lowers the camera. “Yeah, you’re right.” She wonders if she’ll ever love photography again.

*

_Another great day in Arcadia Bay. Thank you, come again!_

Chloe turns the truck off and hops out. Max waits a full minute before unbuckling her seatbelt and following after her. Chloe paces. Max goes to her. “You’re as white as a sheet. What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong? Are you fucking kidding, Max? What the hell do you _think_?”

“Okay. Right. Sorry. Yes. Stupid question.” She winces, hugging her arms to herself. She stands, staring down at her converse shoes. The rubber banding has snapped and she can see through to her socks with little cameras on them.

“I mean, I always wanted to blow this stupid town! That was the dream. With Rachel Amber first and then with you. Fuck, I just never imagined it’d be like _this_.”

“Are you mad at me?”

Chloe paces another few moments and stops, shoulders slumping. “No. Not at you, Max. Not possible.”

“I call bullshit. No offense.”

“Fine, I’ve gotten pissed. But this is different. This is… this is like a really huge fucking deal. Arcadia Bay is gone! It’s… it’s more than just bricks, Max. Everyone in it…” she takes a breath and her voice hitches in that way that makes Max’s heart splinter a hundred different ways each time. “Jesus, fuck, they’re all dead. They’re all dead in that fucking diner. I shouldn’t have let you do it. I was selfish again. I should have jumped off that fucking cliff and stopped all of this!”

“I would have stopped it. I told you, I can’t let that happen.” She swallows. “Please don’t hate me, Chloe. Please. I don’t think I could take it.” She fears Chloe will get in the truck and drive away in one of her fury’s leaving her in the destructive wake of her decision. What would she do? Run in desperation to find another picture? Get Chloe fucking killed again?

“You know I can’t hate you.”

She didn’t hate her for William. She didn’t hate her for not ending her life in that other reality. But how much will she bear before that affection, before that love turns to hatred? “I’ve been the one deciding everything. What do _you_ want to do? We can stay if you want to. I just… I thought that was the last thing you wanted.” Or maybe it’s the last thing _she_ wants.

“I want to go to the Two Whales diner.” Chloe takes her hands fiercely. “I have to know. We have to at least look. We have to help if we can. We owe them that.”

“I don’t know, Chloe.” Chloe wavers in her vision, blobs of color. “That could be a really bad idea.”

“You know how I love my bad ideas. Come on. We should hurry.”

*

Chloe parks the truck on the sandy edge of the water. Night’s fallen and they lie on the bed of the pickup truck. Earlier they picked through a gutted mall, taking blankets, pillows and other little essentials. Neither wanted to return home or to the dorms. There have been no sirens. They have sighted no traffic. Max wonders if the town has been blocked off like some weird Silent Hill bullshit. What if they're trapped in some bizarre picture of time?

The stars shine flamboyantly. Chloe lies with her arms folded behind her head, Max on her side next to her. Both are exhausted from their previous sobbing. Both cried until they ran out of tears and were left calm and hollow. “Do you still have your rewind power?” Chloe asks.

“I don’t know. I don’t care. And if I do, do I really want to be messing with it? All I did was screw everything up.”

“It was that fuckhead Jefferson who did it. And fucking Nathan Prescott. Think about it. If I wasn’t trying to get that money for Frank, Nathan wouldn’t have entered the picture. I would have never been in that bathroom. The only good thing about this is that that piece of shit is dead.”

He’s not the only one. Max rests a hand on Chloe’s stomach. Chloe looks at it, grabbing it before shifting to face her. Max isn’t sure about Chloe’s theory. How many little things spiraled out of control to get her dead? “I’m just glad you’re here.”

“What if it’s not over? What if… Jesus, Max, I don’t know. The storm is over but… I can’t help but think—”

“You can’t think like that. We can’t think like that. We’ll drive ourselves crazy.” Crazier. Won’t they get crazy nightmares from this shit? PTSD? Something. She’s fairly sure dealing with the amount of shit they’ve dealt with this week is enough to drive them certifiable.

“I need some fucking weed.” They spend the next twenty minutes fumbling around in the truck with a small flashlight, Chloe positive that she had a small stash in a zip lock bag she’d shoved between the seats. Their search turns up nothing. “I fucking bet step-douche took it. I wouldn’t be surprised if he smoked it himself. Asshole.” There’s a beat, followed by a long silence.

Max puts a hand on her trembling shoulder but swallows her I love yous. ‘I love you’ doesn’t fix this. Maybe nothing will ever fix this. Was this another screwed up decision? Can she fucking do anything right? What kind of hero kills the town to save the girl? Shit, what if she’s a really horrible person? _So be a horrible person. You saved Chloe._ _That’s worth anything._

She can bear it. She will bear it.

*

Chloe wakes her in the middle of the night, snapping her out of nightmares of Mark Jefferson. Max rubs her eyes, letting them adjust in the darkness to look into Chloe’s worried face. “Chloe, what’s—”

It doesn’t immediately register that Chloe’s kissed her. This isn’t like that peck on the lips in Chloe’s room. She rewound that, did it again, undid it, did it again, undid it, did it again. She liked it more each time and was surer with every go that she couldn’t let it stand. She let it go long enough for Chloe to call her on her own shit, knowing that Max kissed her and rewound it to undo it. So she rewound again, kissed her and allowed the moment to remain, even if it was weird. Who kisses their best friend, for pete’s sake? Chloe was oddly shy about it, teasing her before acting completely indifferent.

And here they are, best friends. Chloe’s more than that. She’s her everything. It’s not living unless she’s with her. She was a complete asshole for blowing her off after William died. What was she so afraid of? How could she give her up for even a minute? Max’s lips part and she kisses her back, surprised by Chloe’s ferocity, not able to keep up with her before she dips her head, breaking the kiss.

“What?” Chloe asks and Max can’t tell if she’s confused or angry.

“Nothing. I mean. I just need to catch my breath.”

Chloe waits half a minute before capturing her lips again. A surge of adrenaline kicks in, excitement, a flush up her cheeks, which pushes the grief and numb away. She’s barely kissed anyone at all and isn’t sure Chloe thinks she knows what she’s doing. Their teeth brush and Max winces, apologizes, happy to hear Chloe’s ‘that’s okay’s before they frantically get back to it.

Chloe yanks the shirt over her head before tossing it. She hovers over her, mouth on Max’s own, hand dropping to her belt. Max hears leather and metal, unbuckling. “Help me,” Chloe says, leaving Max momentarily jarred and afraid. _Nothing’s wrong. This is good. Keep it together._ Her fingers go tentatively to Chloe’s belt, pulling it away, shyly sitting up when Chloe tells her to, letting her rip her shirt off before pushing her back down to the truck bed.

“Ever done this before, Maxine?”

“In a truck bed, you mean? Oh, sure. Lots.”

“Ha! You are hella lying. Poser. You know what I mean.” Max knows what she means. It’s chill and they have a blanket of stars stretched out farther than she can see. The world has ended. Their world has ended and they are all that’s left of what they know. “You didn’t hook up with that geek Warren, did you?”

“Hey, come on.”

“Shit. Sorry. I haven’t—”

Gotten used to talking in the past tense. “Warren wa—Warren’s awesome.” Without Warren’s picture, Chloe would be dead and he’d be alive. “But I didn’t… I mean. I’m not going to lie… I know he had a crush on me and I kind of liked him too—”

“Do I want to hear this?”

“But once I had you back in my life… I mean… we’ve always known each other, you know?”

Chloe touches her face. “Yeah, I know.”

“I haven’t... This is so embarrassing. You’ve got so much experience under your belt—”

“Watch it, Caulfield, I wasn’t the town bike. None of those people were shit. Well. Most weren’t. You know… Yeah. You know.”

Max wonders if she’ll ever really have Chloe or if she’ll always be a stand-in for Rachel Amber. “Did you wake me up in the middle of the night for a booty call?”

“It’s not a booty call unless I call you, so _no_ , genius, I didn’t.” She lowers beside her. “Look. I know it’s fucked but I can’t chill without my medicine. And everything’s crazy right now.” Max nods. “I know I’m selfish. But Max, I fucking love you. I thought—if anything could make the bad go away you could. Ironic right? You make it all go away and I’m the one who brings it.”

“You are the best thing in my life.”

“I’m the only thing in your life.” Max looks away. “Sorry. Shit. Can I even stop being an asshole?”

“You aren’t.” She kisses her briefly on the lips, something chaste and nothing like the fire of minutes ago. “What if it’s really bad? What if I’m really bad? This is a big deal to me, Chloe. What you think matters a lot.”

“You know, I do have some control over my hormones. We can wait. Or we can take it slow. Your call.”

“What do you want to do?”

“You, stupid.” She laughs quietly before snuggling next to her. They lie together, half-naked while Max thinks of the dark room and the people she’ll never see again. Everyone trusted her and she betrayed them. Even Chloe. She didn’t respect her wishes. She took Joyce from her, Joyce who was so good and David who _saved_ her from Mark Jefferson. She let Warren die. And poor Kate Marsh. And Victoria Chase who was sweet and thoughtful when she wasn’t being an insecure bitch.

“Max?”

“Mh?”

Chloe eases the tears from her cheeks and Max, moved by the small gesture kisses her again, letting the spark catch until it’s wildfire. Chloe guides her, gives her suggestions, takes the lead. Max loses her virginity to her best friend in the back of a pickup truck after she’s wiped their hometown out. Sundance and Cannes Film Festival would eat this up. Darren Aronofsky could direct their story. The critics would call the work heroic and controversial, its heroines complex, a triumph of the human spirit.

She thinks of telling Chloe but her thoughts keep drifting away from her. None of this is what she thought it would be. She’s courageous and afraid, happier than she’s ever been and fighting tears. She and Chloe battle for breath, crying out, whispering their love.  Maybe they're just doing what they've seen in movies and tv. It always seems like they're pretending to be more hardcore than they are.

Max isn’t sure if they’re celebrating or grieving. Both feel unnecessary and selfish. She has her best friend. Her love. To hell with the rest.

If only it were that easy.


	2. Downers (part 1)

David Madsen opens the bus door. Max stares up at him helplessly before stepping inside. This is so weird. He’s threatened her before but now she’s a nobody to him. She spends the bus ride back to Blackwell Academy thinking of the family she took from him, the life she took from Chloe Price. David Madsen loved Chloe and Joyce in his own fucked up way.

Chloe didn’t want step-douche in her face and now she’s in a wheelchair. Jesus Christ, was it worth it? She can’t fucking walk. She won’t have any kind of life without machinery or around the clock care. What kind of life is that? Is it living? The Prices are on the edge of bankruptcy, Chloe’s dying and Max didn’t have the guts to do the one thing she asked. _Oh, right. Like killing your friend is something you should accept?_

Chloe got mad. Max left in a fog. Kate’s fucking dead. She’s not going to let another friend die. She won’t ‘help’ Chloe. Not like that. There has to be some way to get out of here.

They arrive at Blackwell and Max steps off the school bus, mumbling a goodbye to Madsen. It’s too bright and pretty for a shitty day like this. If not for the dead birds and Chloe asking Max to kill her, she wouldn’t think anything was wrong. Her phone buzzes and she looks at it, expecting Chloe or Warren. It’s Victoria.

_Maxine, if you’re mad or if I’ve done something wrong you have to let me know, okay? Whatever it is, we can work through it together. Let’s get blazed tonight. My treat._

Max reads the message a second time along with the previous texts Victoria sent. She seems friendly and caring. Does the Victoria in this reality have a soul? Max puts the phone away, taking the steps up to the school. She scans the campus for Warren and does a double take when she sees Kate Marsh instead. Her chin is tucked low, her small birdbone shoulders hunched. Max’s heart soars. Kate’s okay. Kate’s alive!

Maybe everything isn’t screwed up. Victoria’s nice, Kate’s alive, William’s alive… and things aren’t great for Chloe but she’s alive too. Even if she isn’t happy. Maybe she’ll surprise all the doctors. So why can’t she shake the feeling that she’s just lying to herself? “Kate!” Max hurries after her. Kate lifts her head, a deer in headlights, clutching her books. Max wraps her in a tight hug. “You have no idea how good it is to see you.”

“Very funny, Max. Is that supposed to be a joke?” She looks just as shitty and tired as she did the day she jumped off that building. Kate looks around the campus. “Whatever you’re planning can you leave me out of it? I don’t want any trouble. I’ve never done anything to you.” Max shakes her head, confused. She’s talking to her like she’s Victoria. “Just leave me alone.”

“Kate—”

She’s gone.

*

Max lies on her dorm room bed, emotionally exhausted by the little time she’s spent in this reality. Should she stop screwing with time? More often than not it leaves her in a bigger mess than she was in to begin with. And it makes her head feel like it’s been put through a juicer. Her text notification goes off and she rolls off the bed to get it. It’d better not be Victoria Chase. Maybe it’s Kate. Maybe she should text her and find out what her problem was. Is. Oh God. What if in this reality Nathan Prescott drugged her too?

The door to the room bangs open and the devil walks in. Nathan Prescott moves like he owns the place. He’s probably used to it. Fucker. “What are you doing here?” Max steps forward. “Get out.”

“What the fuck? Chill out.” He pulls a small baggie with pills from his pocket. “I’m here with party favors as requested.” He takes a seat on the couch, flicking the baggie at her. She barely catches it. She doesn’t recognize the pills. “One of those and you’ll be feeling nice and even for a few hours.”

As if she can relax around him. Why is he talking to her as if he hasn’t threatened to beat her down ten times over? “Did I ask you for these?”

“What did I just say?” He lifts his head and she doesn’t see the rage she’s accustomed to, the darkness in his eyes. He looks like an all american boy. A preppy drug dealing all american boy. He picks up her guitar, adjusting the tuning knobs, strumming a few times and adjusting again. “What’s wrong with you? Victoria said you haven’t been returning her texts. She thinks you’re mad at her.”

“Oh. Um. Do Victoria and I… usually not fight?”

“How high are you? You’re the queen bee. And she’s the mighty try hard princess bee. Blackwell is our bitch and everyone knows it.” He laughs. She would too if she weren’t so dumbfounded. This can’t be happening. Its too fucking cray. “At least that’s what you always say. Just leave me out of your Mean Girls bullshit. I’ll stick to watching.” He plays a few chords in random succession, a small strand of sandy hair coming loose and falling over his eyes. “So, when do you want to start planning for the next Vortex Club party? I’ll need numbers to speak to Frank.”

She frowns, still holding on to the pills and checking her phone. Her heart sinks. It’s Chloe.

_Hey. Sorry I freaked. I’d forgotten how fun it was just laughing with you. Maybe I was afraid you were going to bail. I don’t know that I could lose you again. You rule Blackwell and I’m not exactly party city. Let’s hang soon. Not a few months from now but soon. Like, this week. I promise, I won’t make any more of those requests._

She looks at Nathan. This asshole drugged Chloe and would have… Fuck. Nothing good. _That didn’t happen in this reality. They might not even know each other._ It doesn’t matter. It happened, period. And if Kate’s any indication, it happened here, too. “Can you go?” He looks at her, surprised, hurt. Fuck it. His feelings aren’t her problem. “I’m sick of the Vortex Club.” No lie.

“ _You_? Sick of the Vortex Club?” He sets the guitar aside. “What’s your problem?” He lowers his voice. “I thought we were cool.”

“Well, we’re not ‘cool’ and I’m tired. Get lost.”

“What the fuck!” He balls his fists, his face red. Max winces, waiting for him to punch her. Is she going to have to claw his face again? But he backs down, looking like some kid whose candy got stolen. “Lay off the blow and take a fucking chill pill, Maxine. Seriously. We’ll hang later.” He takes off but doesn’t slam the door. What the hell? The Nathan she knows would have called her a bitch ten times over before throwing his family name around and pulling a gun on her. Dick. But here he’s something resembling a human being.

This day cannot get any weirder.

Another text. Chloe again? No, William. Her heart does a happy flip before her stomach sinks. _Thanks for visiting Chloe, Max. I haven’t heard her laugh like that in… since you moved to Seattle. Let’s make a habit of you dropping by. Next time stay for breakfast! I’ll make pancakes!_

She doesn’t know how to start responding. She’s getting thanked for visiting Chloe like she did her a huge favor? How much of a dick has she been in this reality? Normally she’d be all over an invitation like that. Fuck yeah, pancakes with the Price family but… Being there was just… so fucking depressing. _It wasn’t depressing. It was new._ _You’ll get used to it._ She doesn’t want to get used to it.

There’s a gentle rapping at the door. The door opens slowly and Victoria peers around before stepping in. “I just saw Nathan hauling ass out of here. Did you have a fight?”

“What do you care?” That same unfamiliar flash of humanity like in that psycho Prescott. Is this some bizarre prank? Everything about this reality is fucking nuts. Chloe’s paralyzed and warm, humble, at peace—or as at peace as she can be given the circumstances. Victoria is nice. _And you’re in the Vortex Club. Everything’s fucked._

“You know why I care.” Victoria’s defensive and nervous in one. She shakes it off, looking cool and arrogant again. “What’s the matter with you? You seem… off.” She eases the door shut. “You didn’t tell Nathan about…”

“About what?” Victoria’s eyes narrow thoughtfully. Was she wrong to go into the past and change things? Chloe was so unhappy. Even if she’s a petulant, self-absorbed pain in the ass sometimes, isn’t it her responsibility to help her? She’s the only one who can. She can’t stop and think about this place. She can’t start to get comfortable. “Look—I’m not sure if we were supposed to hang but… I kind of need some time to myself.”

“You’re upset.” A beat. “I saw you trying to talk to Kate Marsh earlier. Did she say something to you?”

“What would she say?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Keep moping about that video, maybe? As if anyone even cares about her skank ass anymore. I don’t care what anyone says. Putting it on that website was _genius_ , Maxine. Left to my own devices, I might have watched it a few times, laughed and forgotten about it. You showed me _and_ Blackwell, the light. All hail the mighty beeotch.”

“What?” She’s the one who… She. She’s dizzy. Her head feels as if it’s being crushed. The air here is tighter. “Where’s my journal?” She needs to get to her pictures. To pick… a time and get back and…

“Your what? You journal?”

Max goes to the desk. Everything is spinning. There’s the journal. She opens it. One page. She’s written one fucking page in the month since arriving at Blackwell. No pictures. Where are her pictures. Shit. Oh, shit. She tastes blood on her lips. Hears Victoria’s voice getting further and further away. She grabs on to the desk chair, futile, sinks. In the distance, she can feel Victoria’s arms around her, the panic as she asks if she’s all right.

 *

Max wonders whether she’ll ever escape the storm, that Lighthouse. Her favorite memories used to be from there. She and Chloe would run up the curled steps, pretending to be pirates, plundering and taking over the world. Now she can’t keep the days straight. Some hero she is.

She wakes, groaning and turning on her side. Her paper lanterns are on. She loves this light. Lately she’s used them only when pulling all nighters, reading up on why she has this whacko power, trying to figure out where the hell Rachel Amber is. Before she walked into that bathroom where Nathan and Chloe were, she would chill, listening to her indie flavor of the day and dream up shots, dream of her big breakthrough all while crushing on Mr. Jefferson. It was so ordinary. Does she miss that life now? Or has she been spoiled by the excitement, the attention, the power? Who doesn’t prefer Super Max to shitty ‘I didn’t contact you in five years for reasons’ Max?

Victoria sits at her desk, rocking her leg in a slow rhythm, puffing on a bowl. She browses the web on Max’s laptop. Victoria’s eyes are soft. The relief on her face is unmistakable. “You’re awake. Christ, Maxine, you had me so worried.” She shuts the computer and sits next to her on the bed. Max nearly screams. She’s waiting for Nathan to jump out of the shadows with a bat. Is she only in here trying to get the paint splattered picture? Did she take that picture in this reality? It’s confusing. And she’s still pissed that Victoria stole her mom’s coconut bites. Victoria touches her shoulder gingerly. “What happened?”

Max sits up, seeing a few bloody tissues in the trash can. Victoria must have wiped her nose before getting her into bed. That’s… fucking weird. And sweet. “Too much excitement.” She rubs her head and takes the water bottle Victoria offers, tensing when Victoria’s fingers brush along her hair, glancing along her forehead. Didn’t she kiss Chloe just yesterday morning? And why is she thinking that now? It feels like a lifetime ago. She pulls away.

Victoria curls her fingers and stands, easing the non-existent wrinkles from her clothing. “So,” she asks airily, “who’s Chloe Price?” She lifts the phone.

“What?” Max tries to stand but is hit with another wave of dizziness. “What are you doing with my phone?”

“Oh, don’t get bent out of shape. I’m not a snoop like _you_. You weren’t moving or responding. I was going to call 911 but I didn’t have my phone and I didn’t want to leave with you in that condition. The text came through while you were passed out. I can’t help that I saw it.” She hands her the phone.

Max snatches it back and looks at the message. _Dad told me he texted. Sorry for whatever cornball thing he said. No pressure._ Her eyes sting. “Chloe is… I mean, don’t you know her? She used to go here.” Before the assholes at Blackwell made excuses for not being wheelchair accessible. _Thinks the girl who stole the handicapped fund collection._

Victoria shrugs. “Is she the reason you’ve been acting spaced?”

“She’s… my best friend.”

“A best friend who lives in Arcadia and you haven’t mentioned since starting Blackwell? I’m not sure I believe you, Maxine Caulfield.”

“I don’t care if you believe me or not. And I told you not to call me that.” A beat. “I must have mentioned her.” She didn’t write. She didn’t visit. But she must have talked about her. She never mentioned her to Warren either but that’s different. She was just… She was trying to work her way up to it. “You just don’t remember.”

“Whatever you say, ‘Max’.” She takes another slow drag from the bowl, her eyes half closed. She looks the image of a rebellious country club girl. _Yeah. That pearl necklace could pay three students’ tuition. Real fucking rebellious._ “I don’t want to fight.” She slides an ornate silver lighter from the desk, extending it along with the bowl to Max. She backs away from the offering. “No? Since when?”

“My head’s already spinning. I don’t think getting high is going to help.” Victoria’s disappointment is palpable. Max experiences a twinge of guilt, the same she did when she took the photograph of Victoria covered in paint. The moment she snapped that picture she’d felt disgust and glee in equal measure. She didn’t have the picture long before Victoria broke in and stole it but while it was in her possession, she looked at it longer than she should have. It made her feel… “You should probably go back to your own dorm room.”

Victoria runs a hand through her cropped hair, gathering herself. “Sure. Text later.” She blows an insincere kiss before exiting the room.

Max follows after her, locking the door. She’s getting tired of people barging into her room. _This isn’t your room. You have to get out of here. You can’t leave Chloe in a wheelchair. You can’t stay here being an asshole._ But Rachel’s gone in this reality. Chloe said so but isn’t worried. They don’t have to worry about Frank. William’s alive. It might be _easier_ here. She could just be a student here.

She goes to her desk, rummages through her papers and mix cds. Nothing too out of the ordinary. Victoria has left her facebook account logged in and Max scrolls through her status updates. There they are, she, Victoria and Nathan, arms around one another, laughing and high. Max logs out and into her own account. Way more friends and subscribers than Victoria. There are snapshots she’s taken, quotes from a handful of poets, most of her status updates are tagged with Nathan Prescott and Victoria. She closes the browser window. She’s popular here? How? All because William lived?

She goes through her keepsake boxes but can’t find any pictures of herself and Chloe. Is she going to be stuck here? And is it right to go back to a world where Kate and William are dead but Chloe’s healthy but unhappy? She rummages through a few more drawers, pulling out a small stack of polaroids. Nathan hanging out the front door of his pickup truck with a grin nearly as big as the gun he’s wielding. Kate sitting with her back to the camera at a bench by herself. Daniel being shoved into lockers. Victoria, chin in hand smiling warmly into the camera. Max didn’t know she could look that way. The last shot is of her and Victoria on matte print. Max knows she didn’t take this one, black and white, Nathan’s work. Max whispers into Victoria’s ear, a finger over Victoria’s lips to silence her.

Max flushes hot and cold, burying the pictures beneath the stack of photography magazines. She picks up her cell to text Chloe before throwing it into her backpack. Chloe’s probably tired. Asleep. Max can’t deal with that right now. With her right now. She needs a shower. She’s tired. Chloe can wait. She grabs her shower items and steps out into the darkness. Heavy bass thumps down the hallway.

Victoria’s room is directly across from hers. The light surrounds the door like a halo.


	3. Light pt 1

Neon cuts through the darkness, illuminating drunk and dancing Blackwell students. The bass shakes the floor, the walls, their hearts. Victoria lifts a hand, shielding her eyes from the light reflecting off Kate Marsh’s cross.

Her head’s fuzzy. This is her third drink since the party started not counting the pregame drinking she did. What the hell is Kate Marsh doing at a Vortex Club party anyway? More importantly, where is Mr. Jefferson? Sometimes he swings by, and why shouldn’t he? Vortex Club parties are the best thing about Arcadia Bay. Where else is a fine man like that supposed to go on a weekend night in such a sleepy little town?

She’s far superior to that skanky bitch Rachel Amber and Mr. Jefferson slept with the no-talent junky slut anyway. There’s no reason he wouldn’t give her his undivided attention. She’s Victoria Chase. She’s talented, rich, popular, young and beautiful. She’s been approached by several modeling agencies scouting for talent. Mark Jefferson may fawn over Maxine Caulfield and her indie hipster pixie girl bullshit but Max is too much of a social retard to bother taking a risk like going to a party, much less submit her work to any publication. There’s no contest. The only courageous thing about Max Caulfield is her wildly misguided opinion that anyone would consider her work of art, namely herself, to be worth any attention.

Where the fuck is Nathan?

She searches the room and finds him next to Kate Marsh. What makes an uptight chastity troll like that venture out into this den of depravity? Maybe she’s a hypocrite like all the others. Maybe she does blow after blowjobs. The thought makes her smile though she can’t figure why Nathan would even go near her unless he’s. Well, no, she can’t figure why. Maybe because he’s a complete lunatic at times, bless him.

Victoria moseys her way to him, squeezing past grinding cheerleaders and nerds doing their best to dive out of her way. She’s close when she sees Mark Jefferson talking to Kate. How giving he is, giving any attention to a wallflower like that. Victoria supposes that Kate’s little drawings are cute but she has no business being taking up a valuable slot in his classroom. In any case, this is her chance. If Mark is going to visit one of her little soirees, there’s no way she’s going to let Kate fucking Marsh steal the limelight.

She’s so focused on him that she trips over one of the speaker wires on the floor. Time moves in slow motion, even as she feels heat splash across her face. Her ankle twists and she stumbles but doesn’t fall, doesn’t spill her drink. The three turn to look at her and she’s momentarily speechless, humiliated. Did they notice? “Mr. Jefferson, hi! You’re so fucking awesome for coming to my little party.”

He has a way of looking at her, curious but wary. A flash of that bashful smile of his and Victoria feels her knees weakening. It doesn’t make sense. Why would he pick Rachel Amber? Why Rachel and not _her_? Rachel was pretty, sure, but what else was there to her? She’s never met a faker bitch. “Victoria,” he has to shout over the music, “I see you’ve gone all out with another one of your legendary parties!”

“I always believe in giving it my all. You never know who you might meet.” Victoria looks at Nathan and Kate who stare at them ,and smiles. _Take a fucking hike,_ it says. Nathan wraps an arm around Kate’s shoulder and pulls her away. Victoria nearly laughs. When was the last time a guy put his arm around her? Especially a fucking Prescott. As long as she’s out of her sight and not taking Mr. Jefferson’s attention, Victoria doesn’t care where she is. “I hope you weren’t talking to Kate about that Everyday Heroes contest.”

“I thought it might be helpful for Kate to come out of her shell! She has a strong work ethic.” Yes. Kate somehow got a job helping him set up for class. Lucky bitch. “But you can’t truly _create_ art without having lived. I had her on coat check but it looks like Mr. Prescott has absconded with her…” he cranes his neck searching the crowd for them.

Victoria focuses on his face. She’d love to photograph him. Black and white, of course, to accentuate the light and the dark. He’d study his portrait with her, breathlessly exclaiming at her remarkable talent. She touches his arm to get his attention but even then he seems to look right through her. “That’s what all the students love about you, Mark. You’re so caring.” She smiles when he looks around cautiously, tugging on his tie. “And while Kate and _I_ appreciate the gesture— everyone knows I’m going to be taking home the Everyday Heroes prize. It’s not bragging if I’ve got the talent to back it up. Just think of all the things we could do together in San Fran. I can’t wait for the both of us to experience them—together.”

“I’m not really comfortable with this conversation, Victoria.” He taps her arm. Like a frat bro when one of his homies has successfully shotgunned a beer. She flushes again. He’s rejecting her. Again. “Maybe you should invest all of the energy and creativity you put into these parties into your shots.” _You can’t be serious._ Victoria pales and downs the rest of her beer in rapid succession. “I have a few things to take care of. I’ll see you in class,” he says moving away from her.

The room spins. Taylor appears at her side. “I saw you talking to Mr. Jefferson, so…—”

She’s so embarrassed she can hardly breathe. The last thing she needs is Taylor in her face. “Just make yourself useful and get me a fucking drink. _Now_.” Taylor hops to it and Victoria grips a nearby table. Well, if she keeps up with that attitude she’ll become the bitch everyone thinks she is. Taylor has all that crap with her mom going on and she still came by to give her props. And she returned the gesture by biting her head off. _Why are you so sensitive, Vic? It’s pathetic._

Speaking of pathetic. She sees Rachel Amber’s tall, androgynous punk friend roving the room. The first few times she saw them together, Victoria mistook her for a skateboarding pretty boy. So pathetic how she followed Rachel Amber around, even _after_ she got expelled. Pathetic now, how she still sniffs after her like that Hachi dog waiting at the train station for its owner to come home.

The woman moves through the crowd, her gaze desperate and piercing. Victoria wonders what it’s like to be the cause of that desperation. Eventually she stops in front of Victoria, who’s only happy that Taylor has finally returned with her drink. “Have you seen Rachel Amber?” she asks.

Victoria has a drink. “I’m happy to say that I haven’t. Zoey, is it?”

“Chloe.”

“Whatever. Rachel was a slut, who was giving it away for free all over town. Do yourself a favor and move on.”

“What the fuck did you just say?”

Chloe’s fingers snatch around Victoria’s shirt, snapping one of the buttons loose. Victoria gets a whiff of her. She smells like weed. The red cup is jarred out of Victoria’s hand. Beer spills on her legs and shoes. If she weren’t afraid the obsessive dyke wasn’t about to whip her ass in a fit of rage, she’d be appalled. Taylor, the devoted thing steps between them and pushes Chloe away. “Back off, Chloe. We haven’t seen her. No one’s seen her! Don’t get pissed at Victoria because Rachel dropped off the face of the earth.”

Victoria straightens up, easing her hair back into place. “The truth hurts. You should know better than to want sloppy seconds.” Mr. Jefferson didn’t. Maybe Mr. Jefferson used her and dumped her and now she’s gone into a hole somewhere to die of humiliation. Of course Rachel ran. Who would pick a stoner dropout who couldn’t cut it in Blackwell over Mr. Jefferson? “ Thanks for spilling my fucking drink. Let’s go, Taylor. Good luck finding that skank, Zoey.”

Victoria pushes past her, stepping past her fallen cup, trying to forget Chloe’s face. What the hell is there to look so devastated about?

*

Kate Marsh dances in a daze. Her movements are languid as she peels off her modest cardigan. The crowd surrounding her goes wild, laughing and egging her on. Victoria stares at Kate’s penny loafers, at her thin, white folded socks modestly covering her ankles.

The cross she wears swings like a pendulum. It seems to absorb all of the light in the room and Victoria finds herself shielding her eyes anew. She’s becoming more unsteady as the night goes on. And Victoria thinks she is too. A few of the guys go to Kate, grabbing her hips and grinding her from behind. Kate goes along with it, swinging her arms to the music mechanically. Her eyes are glazed like the first snap of frost on a window, leaving the outside world a blur.

Victoria blinks and Kate’s moved from dancing to kissing. All the idiots at the party eat it up. So here’s the abstinence crusader sucking face with a string of boys. This is _too_ good to miss. She digs her cell phone out of her purse and records. Jesus, how fucking hammered is she? _Kate! Kate! Kate! Kate!_

Chloe still prowls the dance floor. Kate reaches for her but Chloe takes her arms, pushing them down and away before moving on. There’s an instant where time stills and Kate is frozen, face flushed and sweaty, hands half curled and searching. Her eyes are empty. A chill trickles down Victoria’s spine. Kate moves again, like an automaton which is pretty weird. They share a wall. Kate plays violin, quite nicely, Victoria hates to admit. She must have an understanding of music and rhythm but everything about her movements now are jerky.

Alyssa goes to Kate, asking if she’s all right and Kate tries to kiss her too. Alyssa rejects her and Victoria laughs. “Oh my God, that is so fucking embarrassing. Getting rejected by the biggest loser in class.” But there are other girls who step out of the crowd and Kate has no trouble shoving her tongue down their throats.

The cheers are shifting now to laughter, pointing and staring. Nathan Prescott wraps an arm around Victoria’s shoulders. Victoria stops the video, feeling Nathan’s plump, warm lips against her cheek. “Gorgeous! I’ve missed you all night!” He lifts her slightly and Victoria giggles. “Look at her fucking go. That Christian slut is giving new meaning to love thy neighbor.”

“I guess some people will do anything to get attention.” Someone’s about to get a little more than they can handle.

Kate stumbles, reaching helplessly for people in the crowd who back away from her. She lurches forward to Victoria, taking her shoulders. “Victoria.” She leans up to kiss her but Victoria turns her head.

“Sorry, Kate. The only thing I feel like getting experimental with is my photography.”

Kate’s hands light on her face, smooth and small. “I’m sorry. I don’t feel so good.”

“Sex tip 101, Virgin: you don’t usually catch anything from a kiss.”

“Yeah, but that was like a hundred,” Nathan says cheerfully. “Jesus Christ, you are sloppy!”

Kate’s eyes narrow at the exclamation, despite her parted lips, some part inside of her shouting at the blasphemy. Kate drapes herself over Victoria, nestling her hot face in her neck. Victoria tenses. “I feel so tired,” Kate laments. “Can you help me—can you help me…” she pulls back and retches hot bile on Victoria’s shoes.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Kate Marsh? Did—Jesus fucking Christ!” She pushes her back. Kate staggers, miraculously keeping herself from falling. Victoria looks at her shoes. Chunks. “Do you know how much these fucking shoes cost?” Why is everyone walking all over her tonight? Jefferson was dismissive, Zoey was a bitch and now – and now…. “This is too much! I hope you feel like shit for the rest of the night!”

Kate brings a hand to her stomach, doubled over. “Victoria… I’m…”

“I’m fucking done with this party, Nathan!” Victoria says stalking away. “And if you don’t want everyone else to fucking bail I’d suggest getting her drunk ass the hell out of here.”

“You’re so fiery, gorgeous! I love that about you!”

Victoria looks back but Nathan’s already forgotten about her. He pats Kate’s shoulder, talking to her about something. Victoria’s eyes sting. Does it matter to anyone whether she’s at the party or not? She already wants to forget every moment of this shitty little night. She yanks her phone out of her purse. The video is still frozen on Kate mid-kiss. Well. Maybe there’s something that will make her feel better.

 


	4. Junkyard Delinquents pt 1

Rachel Amber pops a can of beer open, raising it in salute to Chloe who lies on the shambling futon, half-reclined against the wall. “To Chloe Price—my best friend and the first student to be kicked out of Blackwell in years.” Chloe waves a hand, giving herself accolades. “Your expulsion is going to get back to my parents.” She extends the beer to Chloe, her eyes bright and mischievous. “What a bad influence you are.”

Chloe takes the beer with a grin. Sure, _she’s_ the bad influence. Yes, she’s the one who skips class, mouths off when she bothers going, treats homework as if it were only a suggestion and spray paints graffiti in the parking lot. But who got her drinking? Who brought her to the junkyard? Who showed her how to roll her first joint, taught her how to score and egged on all the behavior that made her notorious at the prestigious academy? _Who made you feel alive again?_ The 4.0 pride of Blackwell.

“They might cut me some slack if you tell them you’re reigning queen of the Vortex Club and party with people who are way bigger assholes than I am.” Rachel rolls her eyes. “Are your parents going to lose their shit over you hanging out with some punk delinquent?” Rachel’s parents disapproving of their friendship strikes her as bullshit. Romantic bullshit.

“If I were you, I’d be worried about Joyce.”

She scoffs, reaching into her backpack and pulling out a baggie. “As if she’ll notice with fucking step-douche.” Sometimes Chloe wonders whether Joyce knows she’s alive. Joyce made her go to a therapist after William died. The shrink suggested she acted out to get attention. Chloe stopped going soon after. She finds papers and begins rolling a joint. “Bet she wishes I’d died in that car crash instead. It must suck having a daughter who’s such a fucking disappointment.”

“I don’t believe that for a second and neither do you.” Chloe shrugs. “Joyce loves you. Even when you’re being an emo pain in the ass.”

“But I’m your emo pain in the ass, right?” Chloe licks the end of the paper, sealing the joint before lighting it.

Rachel smiles dimly. “Hey, sharing is caring.”

“Not really a ‘sharing’ kind of girl. But I’ll make an exception for you. Guess you’re my kryptonite. You know. Like Superman?” She laughs, too nervous, too girly. Her heart hammers the way it only does around Rachel. “Promise not to tell anyone?” Rachel holds up a hand: scout’s honor. Was she ever a scout? It doesn’t matter because Chloe believes her. Chloe hands her the joint and lighter. “Hey, want to come over tonight? Mom will cook something amazing and I get to live when step-douche breaks the news.”

“Come on, it won’t be that bad, will it?”

“With Robo-Cop David fucking Madsen? Honestly, I don’t know.” She takes the joint after Rachel takes a few puffs, taking a long drag and holding it. She coughs a little, lying down on the futon and folding an arm behind her head. Rachel stretches out beside her. Chloe tenses, nervous and excited.

“Has he ever hit you?”

“No. And if he tried it I’d knock him on his ass. I wish he would hit me. Maybe Mom would realize what an asshole he is.” She’s still as Rachel strokes the bullets of her necklace, pensive. Chloe experiences a crisis of jealousy for those bullets, wishing she were the object of Rachel’s ministrations. “Oh. Um. So I got this hair dye. Blue. I figure since my ass has been kicked out of Blackwell, fuck it. I could go for a new look. Should I try it or would I look like a total loser?”

“I think that would be hella cool.”

She’s still getting used to that word. “Yeah? Then… consider it done.”

“I’ll help. Make sure you don’t miss any spots.”

“Yes, ma’am. Can’t hurt to have America’s Next Top Model on the makeover team.”

That makes her smile. “You know you don’t actually _need_ a makeover. I happen to think you’re gorgeous.” Chloe reaches for her but Rachel sits up, running a hand through her hair anxiously. Chloe passes the joint back. “Justin’s going to go into withdrawals now that you aren’t at Blackwell. Who’s he going to shred for now?”

“That guy is so high all the time, I doubt he’ll know I’m gone. Um. What about you?”

“As if I could forget Chloe Price. I won’t just up and leave you.”

Chloe frowns. Rachel does too, holding the joint between her fingers. All these years later and Max still bleeds into their conversations. Fucking Max. Isn’t it lame to still hurt after so long? They were kids. It wasn’t a breakup. No. It was worse. Way worse. Max left her at the worst possible time. She left her with nothing. She lost her father. She lost her best friend. To this day Chloe checks the mail every day, checks her phone in hopes that Max will have reached out. But Max never does. What does she look like now? Is she living it up in Seattle? Maybe Max forgot about her.

“Do I remind you of her?” Rachel’s gaze skims over Chloe.

Chloe stretches her fingers out for the joint. Rachel gives it to her. “You’re both artsy bitches.” She doesn’t know if she’s answered the question or avoided it. “Max never went anywhere without her camera.” Would she have taken pictures of Rachel? Would Rachel have liked it? Would Max? Would _she_?

“I know she hurt you but it won’t be like that with us. We’ll hang out. This is our place. Our world. You don’t know how fucking crazy this town is, Chloe.”

“It’s a shithole, no question. I swear, the only thing that keeps me together is how much I’d fucking hate to die in a dive like this.”

“You won’t die here, Chloe.”

“In a fucking junkyard? Jesus, I hope not.” How depressing.

“You know what I mean. You’re greater than Arcadia Bay.”

“Mind telling that to step-prick?”

“Hey, hey, listen to me.” Chloe looks from the wall to Rachel. “This isn’t forever. We’re going to get the hell out of here. Together.”

“When you say it like that, I kind of have to believe you.” She sits up, taking a large gulp of beer and letting Rachel have kills on the joint. “You’re the only one who’s ever stuck by me. Throughout all this bullshit when everyone else fucking bailed.”

“I’ll die before I leave you, Chloe Price,” she puffs a few o’s and winks.  “Scout’s honor.” But was she a scout? Once again, Chloe doesn’t ask.

 *

“What’s all this blue shit in the sink?” David roars. There’s stomping before he barges into Chloe’s room. “Is that your—holy shit, what the hell did you do to your hair?” Chloe jumps off the bed, noticing she’s dribbled blue dye over the blankets and on the wood floor. What the hell, hasn’t he been in war? This is the craziest shit he’s ever seen? “You think that looks good? You think your mother doesn’t have enough of your stupid shit to deal with?”

“Oh chill out, David, it’s just fucking hair.”

“It’s _not_ just fucking—” he stops, noticing Rachel. “What are you doing here?”

“Currently…— feeling incredibly awkward. Hi, Mr. Madsen—”

“Don’t you ‘Hi, Mr. Madsen’ me. Chloe, I _told_ you, you don’t have anyone over unless you have my say so—”

“What the hell, I can’t have friends over now? Yeah, that’s real fucking fair—”

“You don’t need to be hanging around people like _her_ —”

“People like _her_? In case you’ve forgotten I’m the one who got kicked out of Blackwell!” He stops, going pale. Well. Shit. That cat’s out of the bag. She laughs. “You didn’t know? Surprise. I thought they told the hot shot security guard at Blackwell everything. Guess you’re not half as good at spying on people as you thought.”

“You mean to tell me you got kicked out of Blackwell? What the hell did you do? I swear to God, Chloe—” He rushes forward but Rachel steps in front of her. David looms over Rachel. She’s such a small thing but fierce as anything. Chloe thinks of Max. She used to be that way too before she dropped off the face of the earth. “Get the hell out of my way, Rachel.”

“No way. Back off. Uh. Sir.”

“Rachel, it’s cool, I can handle GI Joe.” Chloe tries to move around her but Rachel reaches back, grabbing her arms, keeping herself a shield in front of her. Chloe swallows with emotion.

David huffs. “Your mom busted her ass to get you into that school and you pissed it all away, Chloe. You ever think of that? You give a damn about her at all or is getting high the only thing you care about? Is this what you want for your life? Squandering all that potential? Getting mixed up with the cops? Collecting criminal charges? What the hell did Joyce ever do to deserve a daughter like you?”

Chloe grits her jaw. Nothing. She did nothing to deserve a daughter like her. “Fuck you, David.” Her voice shakes.

“Do not talk to me like that—”

Rachel’s fingers loosen and Chloe steps around her. “Or what? You’ll discipline me? Make me drop and give you twenty? I’m not a fucking soldier. I am not your daughter, this is not your home. You can’t do shit!” His hand lashes out so quickly Chloe doesn’t see it. She just hears it. Feels it. Heat scorches the right side of her face. She blinks fast at the tears of pain, silent, a hand to her face, feeling the palm print forming. Embarrassed. Rachel takes her other hand and drags her out of the room, down the stairs. Chloe goes. They move past Joyce who calls after them. Chloe moves, unable to pull the hand from her face. He hit her. He hit her. William would be so pissed. If he were still alive.

*

They drive aimlessly after leaving the house, Chloe only drifting towards Blackwell when Rachel takes out a textbook and begins highlighting passages. They have a test tomorrow. Rachel has a test tomorrow.

They sit in Chloe’s truck, parked in the Blackwell parking lot. The truck is chilly and it’s been hours since Chloe’s said a word. Rachel undoes her seatbelt first and then Chloe’s. The click of each buckle is deafening.

Chloe grips the steering wheel. Rachel slides closer. Chloe smells her shampoo. Some flower she can’t name. Her body radiates heat. All Chloe wants to do is pull her close but the whole David thing has her feeling like a complete loser. Rachel turns the truck off and rests her head on Chloe’s shoulder. Chloe stiffens. She can’t look at her. All her talk didn’t amount to shit. All she managed to do was look like a fucking poser in front of Rachel. Sometimes she thinks playing pirates with Max is as bad ass as she’ll ever be.

“You okay?” Rachel asks.

“Sure, why wouldn’t I be? Step-douche slapped me and I laid him out flat, as promised.” She laughs bitterly. “I suck. But you’re fucking awesome.” Rachel looks up at her. “You – you really stuck up for me back there and that… well that means a lot.” She winces noticing she’s still dripping blue hair dye and has gotten it on Rachel’s shirt and arms. “Here I am trying to be sappy and all I’ve managed to do is ruin your shirt.”

“Fuck my shirt.” Chloe stares at the Blackwell lights in the distance but Rachel turns her face to look at her. “I don’t care what you say. You’re a complete bad ass for living in that house with that asshole day after day.”

“I don’t feel like a bad ass.” She sighs. “Mom’s going to be pissed. About school. Worse—she’s going to be disappointed. Fighting with her gets old. Things were so good when Dad was alive. Max was here. She had… so much spirit. We were happy.” Rachel’s phone vibrates. There’s an awkward silence. The phone continues to buzz. “You going to get that?”

“It’s probably Frank. I was supposed to drop by.”

“Without me?” Jesus, she actually said that out loud.

“Just for drinks with Nathan. I figured you’d had enough excitement for one day.”

“I could use a few drinks. And some weed.” She settles back against the headrest. “Fuck. I need to kill some time before I sneak back home. The last thing Mom needs is to witness another blow up with David. She’s always in the middle. That must feel shitty.” But really all she wants is for Rachel to keep resting against her for another few hours. To have the balls to wrap an arm around Rachel’s shoulders and thread her fingers through her hair. All the little things she hasn’t been able to stop thinking about recently. “I could drop you off. At Frank’s.”

“Change of plans.” Rachel pulls away, reaching into her purse and shutting the phone off. “I’m afraid you’re stuck with me tonight.”

Chloe clings to the steering wheel, afraid she’ll get carried away if she doesn’t hold on to something. “So I win out over Nathan Prescott and Frank N Beans. How’d I manage to pull that off?” Could it be that the other two are complete losers? Not that – she’s faring particularly better. She frowns.

Rachel comes close again. “Are you _arguing_ against hanging out with me?”

“Yeah, right. I mean, that’s a negative.” Fuck. She hates when she picks up step-dick’s lingo. Why does she always turn into a complete dork around Rachel? “You’re the only one I can even stand being around. But unlike Frank and Nathan I can’t hook you up with the goods.”

“I have weed and shrooms in my room…”

“You always know what to say.” And fuck if all three of them aren’t calling to her. She shakes her head. “ I don’t know, Rachel. Mom’s probably flipping her shit. I turned my phone off hours ago. And if I don’t want to be the loser step-prick thinks I am, I shouldn’t stay out too late. As much as I’d love to spend the night with you.”

“Right.” Rachel scoots back to the other side of the truck, her gaze already somewhere else. It terrifies Chloe how quickly she can do that. “Can you drop me off at Frank’s, then?”

“Yeah.” She starts the truck. “Sure.”

She’s irritated. Rachel’s outgoing. She gets along with everyone. The punks, the popular kids, the losers. Maybe she wanted Rachel to argue more. _You’re the idiot who insisted on going home._ She’s disappointed and drives with the windows down, listening to the rush of the wind, wanting it to drown out her thoughts, wanting it to push Rachel close again.

They arrive at the beach where Frank parks his trailer. A few other cars are parked just as illegally as Frank, fancy Blackwell cars, not lemons like her truck. Rachel hops out wordlessly and shuts the door. “Bye to you, too,” Chloe mumbles. Rachel stops in front of the truck, a deer in the headlights. Light cradles her like a halo. Chloe stares, mesmerized until Rachel comes around and steps up, crossing her arms along the open window. “Maybe I can hang out after all,” Chloe offers. “Throw a few back? Nathan and Frank aren’t so bad and I’ve already been kicked out of Blackwell. There’s… gotta be a cap on all that disappointment, right?”

“Joyce is probably worried sick. Go home.” Chloe nods absently, returning her attention to the steering wheel. “Hey.” She turns her head and Rachel kisses her. Chloe blinks, surprised her heart doesn’t jump out of her throat. She half closes her eyes, parting her lips. They share a soft, lingering kiss, one that makes Chloe forget everything that’s wrong in her life. Rachel pulls away and she remembers the cold of the night, becomes aware of the darkness all around them. “You look like a fucking rock star with that hair.” Rachel touches her face and kisses her cheek before hopping down. She walks towards the trailer, cutting in and out of the headlights, disappearing into the shadows.

* * *

A/N: I just really wanted for there to be a busted up shitty futon at the junkyard. I feel like Rachel and Chloe scenes are important even if Rachel is so Laura Palmer pre: Fire Walk With Me. Making her up as I go along based on the scraps from the game is fun and challenging but I recognize it might make some people cringe...

 


	5. Ghosts pt 1

Chloe’s breath is a boney rattle.

Max’s legs are numb. The bang of the door marks Nathan’s exit. She crawls to Chloe, her hands and knees warming in the pool of blood that’s spilling out of her. She’s a blur. Max gasps, tears running freely down her face. Chloe’s eyes are hazy, the spark going out of them. Her fingers twitch and Max takes them. Chloe’s lips part. Ax. Aaaaxxxxx. M….aaaaax. A question.

This Chloe doesn’t know Max promised never to leave her again. Before she left her again. Before she sacrificed her for a town she doesn’t care very much about. Because she chose to do the right thing. What is the right thing.

“It’s me, Chloe. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” That question in her eyes. “I want you to know how sorry I am for leaving you all those years ago. I thought of you every day. I’ll never forget you. I love you. I love you so much, Chloe Price.” Chloe’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. Max strokes her hair and lets her die.

There’s shouting. The bathroom door opens. David Madsen cries out, anguished, falling next to Chloe. Max stands and exits into the hallway. Her shoes are bloody and she slips, falling hard on her knees before standing, leaving bloody streaks on the hallway floor. The student body murmurs. Max keeps walking, she doesn’t know where, bloody and excavated; a ghost.

*

The funeral is Friday. Max stands next to Joyce and David as if she weren’t just as responsible as Nathan for killing their daughter. It’s a beautiful day with limitless blue skies and ample sunlight. Max wishes a tornado would come and tear Arcadia Bay apart, taking her with it, stealing the furies in her head.

*

She doesn’t have any recent pictures of them. No bed selfies. No pictures of Chloe dancing on the bed. No pictures of Chloe bathed in the light of the setting sun. The pictures were lost when she rewound time to let Nathan kill Chloe. She hadn’t thought of that.

How was that the right thing to do? Is she crazy? Was she given time control powers to not use them? Was she given time control powers to reconnect with her best friend and leave her to die?

Life is shit.

She sits on her bed, thinking of the Chloe she met in the Blackwell parking lot: angry, bitter, resentful, abandoned, anguished over Rachel Amber’s disappearance, thinking her step father hated her and her best friend didn’t care about her.

She let her die that way. She let her die feeling like shit.

Max buries her face in her hands and cries.

*

She hasn’t been paying attention to anyone or anything. She hasn’t responded to texts or emails. She’s barely left her room for anything more than bathroom breaks and going to shower when she remembers. Which hasn’t been often. When Kate Marsh jumps off the girl’s dormitories, Max sees her body flash by her window, a streak of grey before she lands and becomes just another body bleeding out.

She’s surprised but can’t make herself feel anything, even if she knows it’s wrong and sad. She wonders if she died at the lighthouse or with Chloe in that graffiti stained bathroom.

*

Mr. Jefferson’s been arrested. So has Nathan. But so what. Rachel is dead. Kate is dead. Chloe is dead. Max thinks of David Madsen blowing out Mark Jefferson’s brains in the dark room floor. There’s nothing that happened in that room that she wants to remember but she remembers the red and white seeping out of his skull. His glasses stayed on which is kind of funny. Why didn’t she snap a picture of that?

She remembers a drug haze. How her limbs felt paralyzed, how her senses felt like they were padded with cotton. She feels that way all the time now. Like groggy white noise.

She told David and Joyce that Chloe would be all right. What a liar she is.

She stares at the floor, at all the polaroid selfies ripped in half. She can’t stand the sight of herself in the mirror, much less countless photos of an everyday zero. Who the hell does she think she is? Fuck the contest. Fuck this school. Fuck photography. Fuck it all.

*

She still has Warren’s jump drive and ignores what Warren intended her to see in favor of the ‘unholy obscenities’ folder. Some weird shit. Mostly porn. Max clicks through it. Women with bigger boobs than her head and men with dicks bigger than her forearm. Jeez, how’s that supposed to fit inside of a person.

There’s girl on girl action. The women have long blonde hair and Freddy Krueger nails. The stories are almost as unbelievable as her last few weeks at Blackwell. There aren’t any women that look like her or Chloe. Which disappoints her in a way. She watches a few of the videos, wondering how authentic they are. Wonders if it would ever have been that way with her and Chloe. They kissed in Chloe’s bedroom and again at the lighthouse. Would Chloe have taught her how? Would she have been with her and thought of Rachel Amber?

Chloe was filled with so much love and light. She told Max she loved her. She sacrificed herself for a shitty town that’s on the verge of extinction. Why would Chloe love her? When Jefferson killed Chloe, he told her that she and Rachel were fucking in heaven. How stupid. Max doesn’t know if that should make her happy or jealous.

Why should anything Jefferson said make her happy? Can anything make her happy? There’s a soft rapping on the door. It opens before Max can respond. It’s Victoria Chase looking pale and drawn, her eyes rimmed red. Her gaze falls to Max and then to the computer screen, currently frozen on two women with their centers pressed together. Max knows she should feel embarrassed but she doesn’t feel anything.

Victoria shuts the door.

*

Max turns on her cellphone and scrolls through old text messages while Victoria talks. _Let’s go ape!_ No thanks, Warren. His following messages are supportive. Max wonders if he really cares or is only interested in getting laid. Maybe _she_ should get laid. Warren’s cute. He would do it. He doesn’t have to know she fell in love with the dead girl. Victoria sniffles and Max looks at her. She’s never seen Victoria look so awful and she isn’t sure if she finds it reassuring or pathetic.

“It’s my fault Katie died.”

Katie? Oh. Kate. _No_ , Max wants to say, _it’s my fault_. She was so messed up from Chloe dying that she didn’t take the time to snoop while Kate was in zombie mode. So much snooping to right everything that got fucked in the end anyway. Theoretically she should still remember everything but her mind has been addled. Remembering all those little details wouldn’t have gotten her outside or to that roof. So much work. Unlike doing nothing. Doing nothing and letting it happen. Twice. How can she save anyone anyway? She doesn’t even know what day of the week it is. “You bullied her.”

Victoria raises her head, eyes sharp as knives and laced with tears. She holds a fistful of tissues that have gone limp with Victoria’s distress. “Don’t you think I know that? Don’t you think I feel horrible about it? I blasted that video online. She told me I’d be sorry. Jesus, Max. I never thought she’d do something like this.”

“Are you kidding? You tortured her. You knew how screwed up she was. What did you think would happen?” Victoria bows her head, her lower lip quivers. Max relents. “Nathan and Jefferson are the ones who dosed her and…” did they only dose her?

“I don’t know how it could have happened. Right under my fucking nose! Nathan is—was like a brother to me! Did you see all the shit they had in that bunker?”

“I saw.” She can’t forget it. Not only that, the media has worked itself into a frenzy giving the whole disgusting mess twenty-four hour news coverage. The folder of unholy obscenities has nothing on the media circus that has infested Arcadia Bay. _Max Caulfield, tell me what was going through your mind when you watched your former best friend die!_

“Then you saw it, didn’t you? There was a fucking binder with my name on it! The police called me into the station to talk to me about it.” She covers her head with her hands. “I just don’t know how this could be happening. Why would Jefferson do that?”

“Oh really? I thought you would have loved to be photographed by Jefferson. You did everything you could to get him to make a move on you. Trying to seduce a psycho serial killer after hours into giving you the Everyday Heroes win. That must feel real pathetic.”

“What the hell are you even talking about, Max?” Max looks at her face, tear streaked and pained, more bewildered than defensive. Oh. That’s right. Chloe died. Max texted David Madsen the information about Nathan and Jefferson. They were arrested the following day. The conversation Max and Chloe witnessed the night they broke into Principal Wells’ office never happened in this reality. Victoria gets to her feet. “Can you please just cut me some fucking slack?”

No. “Your best friend killed mine.”

“And I went to her fucking funeral! I was trying to be supportive! How can you blame me for what he did? That’s so unfair! We may not be besties—” her voice locks. “I’ve lost people, too, Max. I thought—” Max glares at her. “I don’t know what I thought. Keep watching your lesbian porn, dyke!” She exits, slamming the door behind her.

Reflex makes Max stretch her hand out. She waits for the vise like grip to squeeze the air around her. The mirror by the door rattles. Maybe she can take it back. She can take it all back. The self-loathing, the resentment, the bitterness. The mirror rattles by the door rattles, falls, splinters. Time marches forward.

 


	6. Wet Sand pt 1

Chloe stumbled out of the trailer a little drunk and much too high. That was forty some minutes ago and Rachel hasn’t bothered checking on her. Chloe suspects Rachel would think her emo for even thinking it.

Frank kicked her out of the trailer for not having cash or ass on the ready for the favors he’d spotted her too many times over. _We don’t want to hang out in your shitty trailer anyway_. She expected Rachel would follow but it was the dog with the frilly name that chased after her.

They’ve perched on a beach boulder, she and Pompidou. She smokes a joint she stole from Frank’s stash and nestled into her cigarette pack when he went to grab them beers. Moonlight glimmers off the ocean water. The waves crash softly. It reminds her of the lighthouse adventures she and Max would have when they were kids, hellbent on taking over the world. But Max is gone and she got yet another parking ticket today. She’s got no cash, step-dick’s… a dick. Rachel Amber’s been acting funny… Everything sucks. She pets Pompidou for comfort, surprised that Frank would let the dog out of his sight for even a minute.

The beach party rages. Music blasts, drunken shouts and laughter fill the night. And still she hears the snap of the camera. It isn’t the whirr of an instant camera and yet Chloe turns expecting to see Max. She doesn’t recognize the woman who smells of money and privilege. She saunters closer, tall, blonde, smug. Hot. Chloe keeps her in her sights. “I’d tell you to take a picture but you already have. Might try asking for a change.”

“I didn’t think you thrasher punks were shy.” The woman pulls up the LED screen on the camera and Chloe sees some version of herself: pale face awash in the moonlight, the joint dangling from her lips burns a hole in the night. “The camera loves your face.”

Chloe shifts, uncomfortably. It’s easy to get in a guy’s face. It’s easy to be angry. Maybe if she hated this girl the conversation would be easier. “Oh yeah? Must be why you’re the first to take a picture in years.” Selfies that she insisted on with Rachel Amber or in photo booths don’t count. Then again, Rachel loves being the focus of the camera, not the one taking the picture. She’s not like Max that way. Chloe offers the girl her joint and she takes it. Taylor and Courtney, whom she only vaguely remembers from her time at Blackwell, hang in the distance, looking at them and whispering. “Those your friends?”

“Friends, minions, whatever.” She glowers at Pompidou who whines and clambers down from the boulder, settling at Chloe’s feet instead. The girl sits next to her and Chloe looks her over. Designer clothes. Gold bracelets. Perfectly manicured nails, puffing on her joint like a pro. The blonde extends a hand. “I’m Victoria Chase. But you probably already knew that.”

The name rings familiar but Chloe doesn’t immediately place it. She takes the hand that’s warm and soft before quickly releasing it and shoving her own cold one back into her pocket. Chloe wonders what it is to live the life Victoria no doubt lives. What was growing up like for her? Has she ever been without? What is it like to know that you can have everything you’ve ever wanted? _And here you are struggling to hold on to the one friend you have._

Chloe rolls her eyes. “Sure, everyone knows Victoria Chase.” She extends her fingers for the joint. Victoria passes it back to her. “So, is this a dare from your pals or are you just feeling rebellious?” Her kind doesn’t hang out with hers.

“I saw a shot I wanted and I took it. My teacher at Blackwell—Mr. Jefferson— says to always take the shot. He photographed your kind back in Seattle. Punk women with just a hint of vulnerability.” She laughs and Chloe doesn’t know why, only knows that some judgment has been cast. She looks back to the trailer but the door is still shut. Chloe frowns. How fucking long is she going to be in there? “Maybe you’ll see this one in an art gallery one day. If you ever go to one. I think I’ll title it ‘melancholy punk girl at beach party’.” She grins.

“Do I get a cut of the money you make off the shot?”

“As if the money’s the important part,” she dismisses. Rich people always think that way. “Art is all that matters.” She pulls the picture up on her camera again and Chloe leans in to look at it. Victoria wears a subtle hint of perfume that makes Chloe’s head spin. Or it could be the weed. She takes another few puffs, holding it in her lungs before handing it to Victoria again. “Mark my words. One day I’ll be photographing all the greats. People will be knocking on my door just for a chance to be shot by me. Everybody’s going to know my name,” she says offhandedly, her eyes far away. She turns her face to look at her and Chloe realizes only then how close they are. “Are you wearing cologne?”

Chloe’s face reddens. She wants to tell her that she ran out of perfume, or maybe that she isn’t a perfume kind of girl. That it was her dad’s. One of the last things left of him. But it’s too fucking weird. It’s better to bluster. “You like it?”

“I’m not sure.” A beat. “What’s your name?”

“Chloe Price.”

“Why don’t you go get us some beers, Chloe Price?”

Chloe looks at her, the bright red stain on her shapely lips. The sharpness of her eyes. Her beauty is different than Rachel’s. Colder. Manufactured perfection. For an instant Chloe wonders what it’d be like to wake next to her in the morning, to see her without all that shit on her face. Would she be down on her level? Would she look younger? “Why should I?”

“Because I’m good company and I asked you nicely.” Chloe waits. “Fucking _please_?”

No doubt Victoria is used to others jumping when she asks. Chloe would normally tell her to go fuck herself but she’s less anxious than she was before they started talking. “Two beers coming up, princess.” Chloe leaves her at the boulder and Pompidou trots after her. She scratches behind his ears. It’s hard to believe that Frank has such a good dog. Maybe she should get one. If a dog can love an asshole like Frank, then a dog could love her too and keep her company. Rachel sure hasn’t been.

There’s a cooler by the bonfire but Chloe passes it over, not wanting to get caught up in conversations with Blackwell students. She goes to the trailer. She rolls a fist and bangs on the door. She gets only silence. She bangs on the door again. Frank yells. “Whoever that is, fuck off!”

Chloe shifts her stance. “Chill out, Frank. It’s Chloe. Look, can I just get some fucking beers?”

“You got my money?”

“No, I don’t have your fucking money!” This was a stupid idea. “Hey, Rachel are you still in there? Is everything okay?”

“Rachel’s fucking fine.” He barks.

Chloe hears hushed voices. A minute later Rachel Amber opens the door. Chloe stands on the trailer steps and looks up at her. Rachel’s pupils are pinpricks. Her face is flushed and she’s smiling. She wraps her arms around her and Chloe smells perfume mingled with sweat. Chloe wants to cling to her but Rachel pulls back. “Hey, how’s it going out there?” she scans the darkness before turning back to Chloe. “Having fun?”

“Are you?” she snaps. She shoves her hands in her pockets and sighs, seeing her breath puff in the night air. “Come on Rachel, I thought we were supposed to hang tonight. Since when did hanging out with Frank become the cool thing to do?” She cranes her neck around. “Is it just the two of you?”

“Chloe. Chloe. I love you but you’re _high_.” Rachel touches her face and Chloe leans into the contact without meaning to, her touch warm, like a balm. “We owe Frank big. It’s just a few of us hanging out. Stoners. Frank doesn’t want you around until you’ve got the money to cover what you owe.”

“How am I supposed to—” she lowers her voice, “how are we supposed to get it when we’re trying to save up to get the hell out of here? Please tell me that still _is_ the plan. You and me in LA.” She hates how her voice starts to shake at the thought of it no longer being a possibility.

“Yes. Yes, of course it is.” Rachel looks at her. Chloe wants to ask what the hell she’s on but doesn’t. Rachel has a tendency to be understanding of her concerns or completely dismissive. If she brought it up now all she’d likely do is piss her off. “You knocked on that door so hard we thought you were the police.” She laughs and Chloe smiles at the sound. “Miss me?”

“Always.”

Rachel reaches into the pocket of the low-slung denim skirt around her hips and pulls out a small baggie. Chloe recognizes the powder right away. “Frank would kill me if he knew I took this,” she hands it to her, “but I feel bad leaving you out.” She rubs Chloe’s shoulders and Chloe feels the small heat of her fingers through the leather jacket.

“I don’t want you getting on his bad side. I mean, we’re not friends, he’s our fucking dealer.”

“I can handle Frank.”

“How?”

“A girl never reveals her secrets. Did you need anything else or were you just looking to see my pretty face again?”

Chloe shoves her hands into her back pockets, not quite able to look at her. Sometimes she thinks Rachel is completely oblivious to how she feels. Other times she wonders if Rachel knows and uses it. But she wouldn’t. That’s not Rachel. Rachel has been an angel. Rachel isn’t like that. “Think you can sneak me out two beers?”

“Two beers? Making friends without me?”

“I’d rather drink it with you.”

“Me too.” She tousles her hair, knocking her beanie off in the process.

Chloe picks it up and Rachel giggles, leaning against the door. Shit. She’s so high.

“Rachel, it’s getting fucking cold in here,” Frank hollers. He goes to the door and glowers at Chloe. “You’re still here? What do you want?”

Chloe narrows her eyes, taking a step up. Rachel touches her hair gingerly, taking the beanie from her and easing it onto Chloe’s head. Frank frowns, gritting his jaw. “Chloe just wanted a few beers. Come on, Frank. She drove me here and has been missing the party. It’s the least we can do.”

“She still owes.”

“You can afford two beers,” Rachel laughs. “Business can’t be that bad, can it?”

“Fine.”

He goes into the trailer and Rachel flashes Chloe a conspiratorial grin. Chloe crosses her arms. “Seriously though, how much fucking longer are we going to be here? I didn’t come here to party with other people.”

“Don’t know. It’s early still.” She takes Chloe’s hands. “School has been _crazy_. I need a night to relax. You get me every other night of the week. Sharing is caring.” That again. Chloe bites her tongue to not shout that she doesn’t give a shit about sharing her. Frank returns with the beers and Rachel releases her. Frank hands Chloe the beers. Rachel smiles up at him. “The dealer with a heart of gold.”

“Hey,” he grumbles embarrassed, while Chloe mutters “give me a break.” Frank puts his hand on the door. “You got what you wanted. What you didn’t deserve. Now fuck off.”

Rachel takes her shoulder. “We’ll chat later.”

Frank slams the door shut. Pompidou whines, taking the stairs up and scratching at the door. “Hey, your fucking dog wants to come in,” she tells them but no one opens the door. She turns, leaving the trailer and the dog and heading back to the boulder. Another click and Chloe glowers. Victoria snaps another picture. “That’s three times you haven’t asked.”

“I didn’t have to.” She reaches for the beer and Chloe gives it to her. “Took you fucking long enough.”

Chloe takes her seat back and untwists the cap from her beer. Victoria swaps for her capped one and Chloe scowls, opening this one and taking a drink long enough to drain half the beer. She takes a breath and finishes off the rest before throwing the bottle. It flies a dozen or so feet before landing with a thud.

“And that’s the reason the tourism industry in Arcadia Bay is suffering.”

“Like you give a shit.”

Victoria shrugs and has a delicate sip of her beer before extending the bottle to Chloe who takes it, has a careful drink and returns it to her. “No one could _really_ get angry at having me photograph them. I’m bored so I’ll bite. What crawled up your ass between leaving here and coming back?”

A hundred different things have ‘crawled up’ her ass since her dad died. Chloe jams her hands in her pockets again and finds the small baggie Rachel slipped her. She takes it out, feeling the amount in it. A few lines worth. Victoria eyes it hungrily and Chloe debates whether anyone has ever looked at her with that same hunger. She doesn’t think so. “Is that why you’re here? Bored with your privileged life and seeing how the little people live?”

There’s something pained in her face before her aloofness returns. “Why would I need a stupid beach party for that? Outside of the Prescotts there are _only_ little people here. Including a quarter of the students at Blackwell there on scholarship. And no offense, but I really don’t give a shit how they live.” She sighs, pulling a leg up and resting her elbow on it. “I _was_ supposed to be meeting Zachary here but he blew me off. Which means, come Monday at school he’s going to be real fucking sorry.”

“Blowing off a sweet, thoughtful girl like you?  What’s the world coming to? I guess the princess of Blackwell can’t just take whatever she wants after all.”

“Fuck you.”

Chloe laughs. “Okay.”

“Excuse me?”

Chloe looks at her. “I said ‘okay’.” Victoria looks at her as if trying how to undo some trap. “We’ve both been ditched. Weed makes me horny and you’re bored and hot. I’ve got coke. It’s a win-win.” Fucking while high always trumps a sober screw. At least, that’s been her experience. But maybe that’s wrong. Maybe there’s something wrong with her.

Victoria crosses her arms and looks off. “Is that what you think? That I came to this party hoping I’d get a chance to dyke-out with some hipster?”

“I think you came to a party hoping to fuck a jock douchebag who ditched you for cheap beer and any of the other number of sluts at this party whose legs he thought would spread easier for him.” Chloe pushes off the boulder. This party’s old. “If you see Rachel Amber, tell her I got tired of waiting.”

Victoria lifts her head and jumps down beside her. Jesus, she’s nearly as tall as she is. “You’re friends with Rachel Amber?” She looks at her, understanding easing into her features. “Well, I’d hate for you to ditch her. We’re in the Vortex Club together. Maybe it would be best if we find a way to kill time instead.”

“I’m not interested in fetching more beers for you.”

“As it turns out, neither am I.” She steps closer, lifting her face. “What do you say?”

“A lot of these assholes would be happy to share lines with you.” Victoria’s got enough money she can buy a fucking pound of it if she wanted.

“Maybe you’re the only asshole I’m interested in sharing with tonight.”

Chloe deliberates, unsure where the sudden change of heart came from. Victoria takes her hand and leads her to a secluded area. Frank’s trailer looks like a matchstick box from this distance. Campers must have been here hours ago. A small fire burns dimly. Chloe looks at it and hears the camera go off again. “Stop that.”

“Make me.” Chloe marches up to her, takes the camera, lifting it above her head. Victoria reaches for it but Chloe plays keep away, out of reach from Victoria’s grasping hands before she turns, chucking the camera into the ocean. She memorizes the way Victoria’s jaw drops, the hot anger that takes her fox-like features. “Are you fucking crazy? That’s a five-thousand dollar camera!” she shoves her and runs into the water after it. Chloe watches her, laughing. The waves continue to lap the shore indifferently while Victoria stoops over and over again trying to find it.

Chloe removes her boots and jacket and goes in after her. The water is fucking freezing; the air goes out of her. Does Victoria notice? She’s soaked, head to toe, trying to fish the camera out. “Fucking help me!” Victoria shouts. Chloe drags her fingers across the ground but only finds wet sand. They search another few minutes before Victoria exits the water, swearing.

Chloe remains, walking delicately to not crush the camera should she accidentally step on it, but knowing the camera is completely fucked anyway. When her feet are numb she leaves the water with an apologetic smile. “I think Moby Dick might have eaten it up. It’s gone.”

“You asshole,” Victoria’s teeth chatter. “Five thousand dollars. Does that mean anything to you?”

“Not really. Five thousand is the same as a million. Or a hundred to me.” An amount that seems impossible to get a hold of. “You can probably get one sent express overnight? You look like the type who can afford it. The camera. And the express. Both, I guess.” Victoria gives her a withering stare. “Uh—my dad left me an old polaroid camera if you want it.”

“Fuck your dad and fuck his old polaroid camera.”

The words lance her, waking her more than the cold water did. “My dad’s dead.”

Victoria looks at her with heated, wet eyes. She tucks her quivering chin. “Sorry.”

“Whatever.” She digs a matchbook out of her jacket pocket and throws a few matchsticks into the fire before getting on her hands and knees, trying to start it again. Grains of sand stick to her. She tries to warm her hands in front of the fire. The lighthouse is in the distance. Where’s Max these days? “I shouldn’t have thrown your camera. Even?”

“Not even close.”

Chloe reaches into her pocket for the coke baggie but comes up empty. She stands and searches, rifling through sand, tracing her steps. Victoria watches curiously. She can’t find it. Great. Chloe crashes next to Victoria, pissed. “I lost the coke trying to find your fucking camera.”

“No C and no camera. Great.” She sounds fierce despite how she trembles.

“Hey, this isn’t how I wanted the night to go down either.”

“If you hadn’t thrown the _fucking_ camera, you wouldn’t have lost the _fucking_ coke.”

“So it’s my fault.”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying, genius. It’s not mine.”

Chloe looks to the trailer. There’s no reason why she shouldn’t go there and drag Rachel Amber out. She’s fucking tired of waiting. Why is she wasting her night with Victoria Chase? Who cares how hot she is. She’s a complete bitch. Maybe she’s bored. Of waiting for Rachel Amber to come around. Of taking dude bros to bed that make her wonder why she bothered. She spends all her time looking for ways to pass time. And not enjoying any of it.

“So are you going to follow up on anything tonight or should I just call it quits and go home?”

The pampered princess puts on a good show. Chloe isn’t sure she can match it. She lifts a hand tentatively and touches Victoria’s face. Victoria slaps her hand away. “What now?”

“Sand.”

“We’re at the fucking beach.”

Victoria takes forceful hold of her face. Her hands are caked in even more sand than Chloe’s and the contact is rough against her face. Victoria pulls her close. Chloe flicks her eyes away, nervous and unsure. Victoria Chase. She remembers Rachel Amber talking about her. Yes. This is the girl. The one that’s a piece of work. The petty, spoiled pretty one that goes out of her way to be a bitch. Victoria presses their lips together. Chloe doesn’t respond.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” Victoria demands. Anger and insecurity mark her words. “Don’t tell me you don’t know how to kiss either. Or do you want to spend the rest of the night waiting like a good doggy for Rachel Amber to leave the fucking trailer?”

Chloe searches for a retort that never comes. They stare at one another. Chloe cradles Victoria’s neck and pulls her in for a kiss. Victoria’s lips are stiff against her own before they soften. They kiss begrudgingly, cold and shivering from the ocean water. When Victoria’s tongue presses against her lips, Chloe parts them obligingly, warmth shooting through her like a shot of alcohol. Or something better. Higher. She unbuttons Victoria’s cardigan, casting it aside while Victoria warns her to be careful. But Chloe isn’t careful; she partially rips Victoria’s blouse while peeling it off her. There’s a moment when Chloe thinks Victoria will slap her but the blonde only yanks her close. Chloe looks at her torso, thin and pale, breasts covered by some posh, lacy bra that probably cost more than three of her outfits.

Chloe kisses her body, tasting salt water on her tongue. She leeches the warmth from her, wiping the sand from her hands on Victoria’s wet flesh, leaving sandy handprints. She quells Victoria’s protests with a kiss before her hands slide up beneath her skirt, jerking down her stockings, hearing and feeling them rip. She doesn’t recognize her own soft panting as Victoria’s hands snake under her shirt, her touch intoxicating along her skin. Fuck. She has imagined this moment a thousand times with Rachel Amber.

The campfire has grown and is warm against her back. It lights Victoria’s face, flushed and wanting. “Are we going to do this or what?”

Her breathless voice incites Chloe, who finds her wet and warm, so warm, welcoming Chloe’s fingers inside her. Victoria clamps around her and they gasp; Chloe surprised that this is actually happening, with some woman she barely knows and isn’t sure she actually likes. They kiss again, Victoria issuing orders between kisses, her manicured nails digging into Chloe’s back as she hisses into her ear, _yes, right there. Keep going. Keep going._

There’s more of the usual shouting. Chloe ignores it, encouraging Victoria’s hand slipping beneath her underwear, the hand that’s making her knees go weak.

“Yo, Victoria! Is that you?”

“Fuck that,” Chloe says, not wanting anything or anyone to interrupt this moment. “Ignore him.”

“How? He’s coming this way,” she rasps. “Jesus, shit.” Victoria looks behind her. “It’s Nathan. For fuck’s—get off. Get off!”

“I’m trying.”

“You idiot!” She shoves Chloe so far back she nearly falls into the fire. Victoria pulls up her stockings and scrambles for her blouse and sweater, quickly slipping into both, sand coated and all.

Chloe’s head spins, her body going cold after the heat that had her. She crawls away from the fire, feeling a pool of moisture between her legs, irritated that she won’t be getting off after all. The clit blockers approach. So that’s Nathan. And he isn’t alone. Rachel Amber’s at his side. Chloe can’t look at her.

“Courtney and Taylor said you took off with some dude.” Nathan looks Chloe over. “You’re not a dude.”

“Astute as always, Nathan,” Victoria gets to her feet, shaking the sand off. “Nathan, meet Chloe Price. She was supposed to get me high but lost her fucking stash. This party sucks major balls. Let’s stick to Vortex Club parties.”

“Sure thing, doll.” He reaches out a hand to Chloe and she takes it, grimacing when she realizes the hand she’s given him. “Your hand’s wet.”

Victoria shifts where she stands, arms crossed. Chloe scoffs. “We’re right on the water, dude. It’s wet.”

He gives her a funny look. “Rachel thought she’d lost her ride and I offered to help her look. You never know what sick fucks are hanging out in the dark.”

“No one’s afraid of the dark, man,” Chloe says, “Real monsters hide in broad daylight.” Like step-douche. Like car crashes. Parking attendants. She hops to her feet, fumbling with putting on her boots and shaking into her jacket. She zips her pants while her back is turned and hopes Rachel hasn’t noticed. “Ready to blow this party?”

“Let’s go,” Rachel says flatly. She links her arm through Chloe’s and tugs her away.

“Thanks for letting me borrow her, Rach,” Victoria calls out. “Let’s get the fuck out of here, Nathan.”

Chloe walks with Rachel, glancing back to see Victoria quickly turn away. Rachel’s eyes are dark and heavy. She seems… something. “How was the party?” she forces some cheer into her voice.

“Just take me home.” Chloe nods, biting the inside of her lower lip. Rachel releases her as soon as they’re some distance from the campfire. “It’ll be late by the time we get back to Blackwell so you can just crash. If you sneak out in the morning it won’t be a problem.” Chloe nods again. It won’t be the first time she’s slept there but something feels off. “If we spoon we’ll both fit in the bed. Just take a shower before we settle down for the night. You stink.”

Chloe nods a third time, blushing so fiercely she’s afraid her skin will melt off. “Sure. Whatever you want.”

* * *

 

A/N: Not sure how the crackship chapter with characters who don't even interact in the game except in a nightmare ended up being the longest one but there it is. Thanks to everyone for the kudos and joining me on this bizarre journey to keep playing with a world I fell in love with. I considered making this a follow-up to Junkyard Delinquents but I'm changing enough things to where this warrants a different reality. There's another chapter or two I need to pin down before I start hitting the follow-ups. Cheers and thanks again!


	7. Everyday Heroes pt 1

She spends every minute of every passing day wishing she were dead.

The thoughts manifest physically. She discovers her absent minded drawings are nooses and skulls. She crosses busy streets without looking each way. Some part of her is disappointed when she makes it to the other side. She stops praying to God because God probably doesn’t listen to whores.

Her wrists and ankles were raw and purple, tender and enflamed. She doesn’t know why. She can’t imagine how. They’ve since faded to yellows and greens. All she wants is sleep. The idea of going to class and seeing her classmates. Nathan Prescott… He didn’t take her to the hospital did he? _You don’t know that. You don’t remember._ Maybe she should visit his dorm. Maybe she can talk to him. Normally the thought would be out of the question but she remembers him. If he offered her that kindness at the party then maybe… She’s not sure. Why can’t she remember anything? Why does she feel like… _this_?

She reads scripture. She takes notes. She holds her cross, surprised it doesn’t burn into her flesh. She lies in bed, immobilized.

There’s a knock on the door and she ignores it. She turns on her side, pulling to herself. She’s so tired and hasn’t gotten any rest in weeks. Why did she go to that party? She shouldn’t have gone to that party. But Mr. Jefferson encouraged her to go. He’s giving her work. She doesn’t have a disposable income like so many of the students at Blackwell. Mr. Jefferson knew that about her and he helped. He’s always been so kind. _He_ didn’t make her act that way at the party.

Someone posted that video online. She doesn’t know when. She doesn’t know who. She doesn’t know who would even record such a thing. She only knows that it started with the Vortex Club members giving her funny looks, laughing. Then a few of the other student began staring. Snickering. Someone slipped a picture under her door, a freeze frame of her kissing some random girl. _When do I get some ass?_ And a link to the video. She’d never felt so much horror and shame. Who was that person in the video? She didn’t seem to mind any of what was happening. She kissed so many people. She’d never kissed anyone. She can still hear the music. She still feels… fuzzy.

The knocking comes again. “Go away,” she cries out desperately. She can’t take the jeering anymore. She can’t take their looks and pointed fingers.

“Kate?” The door jostles and Max Caulfield enters, a tea kettle in one hand and two mugs in the other. She kicks the door shut behind her, moving to the rug in front of the bed and setting the items down. “I was just hit with a roll of toilet paper and saw Trevor try to stuff his mouth full of ping pong balls. I weep for the future.” She kneels on the floor, arranging the mugs, pouring tea. “You’ve missed our last two tea dates so I thought—” Max looks at her then and Kate sits up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. She realizes she’s still in her pajamas and blushes. “Hey, are you okay?”

Max slings off her messenger bag and sits beside her on the bed. “I shouldn’t have barged in here like that. You don’t look like you’re feeling well.” Max lifts the back of her hand to Kate’s forehead.

Kate sits still before tenderly pulling the hand away. “You shouldn’t just walk in here like that, Max. It isn’t polite.” Max averts her eyes. She often has a wide-eyed look to her, as if discovering the world for the first time. Or as if she’s been perpetually caught red-handed. “I’m sorry I missed our tea date.”

“I texted you but didn’t hear back. Did I do something…? Sometimes I’m not… the most aware.”

“No. Don’t think that,” she adds more quietly. Kate moves around the room, tidying the space the best that she can. She picks her cardigan up from the back of her desk chair and folds it delicately. “I’m sorry it’s such a mess in here. I would have never let it get like this if I knew you would visit.”

“Are you for cereal? You haven’t seen my room.” She makes a sound, a bomb whistling before landing and detonating. “Total disaster zone. My mom would freak. Anyway, I came by to see you, not your room, immaculate as it may be.”

“That’s nice. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.” For the first time in weeks, she finds herself smiling. “Thanks, Max.”

“No, thank you. For not throwing my ass out for breaking and entering.” She gets off the bed, kneeling in front of the tea. She takes a sip of her mug. It’s a fist clenched around a fish ‘Carpe diem’. “Um, Kate?” Kate stoops in front of the rabbit cage, letting the door swing open. Alice hops out and she pets her soft pelt. She looks back to Max. “You seem a little tired.”

“I’m fine. Blackwell keeps us busy, you know.” It isn’t a lie but it is for her and she feels guilty. She’ll add it to the lengthy list of confessions that remain unspoken. Another sin. She returns to Max and sits in front of the mug of tea.

“Tell me about it. I thought I could come back to Arcadia Bay and transform myself into some badass but who has the time?” She laughs. “I’m so lame. Even if I had the style or the attitude, I’d just look like a poser. It might be time to get comfortable in my own nerdy hipster skin.”

“I think your skin’s fine just the way it is.” She cups her hands around the mug. “You’re really cool, Max.” She hears her voice, trembling, and stops, taking a sip that scalds her tongue. She limps out a smile. “But I’m probably not anyone you want to hear that from. I’m not Victoria or… Taylor … or Dana. I’m not one of those girls.” Tall and pretty, popular and beloved. She’s the joke of the school because she preaches abstinence. It was never funny where she came from. It was… expected. Now with this video she looks like a complete hypocrite.

“Oh no you didn’t. You’re _way_ cooler than any of those beeotches.” Kate wishes she wouldn’t swear. But the words mean a lot. Max reaches out, taking her wrist gently. “You’re like the nicest person I know. And one of the prettiest. I don’t feel so alone with you here.”

Kate keeps her head down. “What about Warren?”

“Warren’s a big fat dork. Which I guess makes us peas in a pod. But, there shall be no more talk of Warren, sistah.” She looks at Kate’s wrist and releases it awkwardly. Kate’s face reddens. “I really hate to sound like a broken record but—are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she snaps and hates her voice, angry and brittle. “Just … stop pushing me, all right?”

“All right.” Max averts her eyes again and Kate knows she’s hurt her. Why does she have to lash out at the one person who’s worried? Max takes a pensive drink of tea. “Sorry I keep… I wanted to catch up with you. It’s Saturday and we’re young and fabulous, damn it. We deserve a nice and relaxing weekend. Or… girls gone wild.” Kate freezes despite how light Max’s tone is. “But not like those lame videos. We can keep our shirts on,” she mutters to herself, unsure. Kate doesn’t know what she’s talking about. Is she making fun of her? Is this some reference she doesn’t understand? “It’s your choice. Not about the shirts but about low key or party city.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” A beat. “Max…” She bites back ‘are you okay’. “ You seem… nervous.” She pulls her hand through her hair. It’s loose and tangled. She ties it up, aware of how Max watches her, unsure of how to feel about it. “Can I ask you something…?”

“Yes. Of course, Kate. Anything.”

She wants to ask Max if she’s seen the video. She wants to ask her never to watch it. She wants to ask her if she would think of her differently. She wants to ask if she thinks her abstinence campaign is stupid. She wants to ask if Max ever has … unsettling and inappropriate thoughts about her classmates and if she thinks that makes her a bad person. She wants to ask all of that and more but she only shakes her head and says ‘nevermind’.

*

They watch David Madsen stalk away and Kate wants to hug Max. With everything that’s happened, she never thought anyone would think she was worth standing up for. But Max not only stood up to David Madsen, she didn’t back down when he pushed back. Who knew that she’d see a modern day version of David and Goliath play out in front of her? With David being Goliath of course. Kate takes Max’s hands, squeezing them firmly. “That was incredible. I don’t even know how to thank you.”

“No thanks necessary. That guy’s a dick.” She scowls after him. “And it looks like he’s going out of his way to harass all the women of Blackwell today. He’s such an ass.” She cocks her head to study Kate, her hands gingerly tightening against Kate’s. “Why was he after you? I get me. I’m a little nosey… but you’re kind of like a model student.”

Kate shakes her head. She can’t talk to Max about the Vortex Club and the party and the video. She’s still much too ashamed and she’s happy for this one person who is her shelter from the storm. “It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that you helped me. I won’t forget this. Bless you, Max.”

“Oh. Sure.” She blushes. “Do you want to hang out? I was returning a jump drive to Warren but.” Kate waits. “I saw what happened in class with Taylor.” Oh. The balled up paper referencing her ‘porn video’. “She sucks. It’s like… This day has been so fucking crazy. Everyone’s acting so strange.” She looks deep in thought. Come to think of it, Max has seemed distracted today. “I—I guess I just mean – I mean, I can give it to him later. If you need to talk or anything.”

Warren’s so cute. Everyone knows he’s crazy about Max. Kate experiences a morsel of jealousy before she shakes her head. “I really appreciate that but it’s okay. And I wouldn’t keep him waiting if I were you.” Oh. That’s nonsense, she realizes as soon as she’s said it. Maybe… maybe if she felt better she wouldn’t. Anyway, she has a feeling Warren would wait for Max until the cow’s came home. “But I really have to go. There’s something I need to do and… what you did just now makes it easier. You’ve given me hope.”

“What? Kate—”

Kate moves on. Seeing Max be brave against David Madsen makes her want to be brave, too. She doesn’t know why the head of Blackwell Academy security has been after her. The worst thing is that he’s seen the video too and now he’s harassing her about it. What hope does she have with her own peers if the adults around can’t handle it? They act like she knows what happened, like she’s proud of it. If only either of those could be true. She doesn’t know anything about drugs. Why does he keep asking her about it?

It doesn’t matter. She needs to talk to Nathan. She moves, making her way to the boys dormitories. The boys milled around throwing footballs look at her, smiling. She ignores the heat crawling up her face and goes to the steps of the dorms. If only Daniel or Warren were here so she could ask if Nathan is around. She sees Logan, Zachary, Hayden. No one she feels comfortable with.

“What’s up, Kate?” Hayden calls out, cupping his mouth with his hands and howling. He’s reclined against a tree with his usual harem. “Let’s hang at the next Vortex Club meeting. We’ll toke up!”

“No, thank you,” she returns adamantly. _Please God help me. Please God give me strength._ She looks around warily before carefully taking the steps down and going to him. “Have you seen Nathan?”

“Whoa ho, you two hooking up?”

“What?”

“Calm down, little girl. I’m teasing. You are pretty though, much as you try to hide it.” He grins and pats the spot next to him to sit but Kate only crosses her arms tightly. The air feels so cold despite the heat of the sun. “I haven’t seen my boy Nate since this afternoon. Seemed like something was bothering him fierce.”

“Do you know when he’ll be back?”

“He doesn’t run his schedule by me, so no. Sorry.”

Kate thanks him and returns to sit on the steps, ignoring the stares. On second thought, maybe this was a really bad idea. The entire school already thinks she’s… a loose woman and now she’s waiting at the boys’ dorm unaccompanied. Eventually Logan saunters over. He sits beside her and wraps an arm around her shoulder. “I saw your video, Kate. If I’d known you had such a wild side, I would have noticed you sooner.”

Kate doesn’t know how to respond. No one’s ever spoken to her like this. Ever. Guys like Logan never notice her. And she doubts he would have if not for the video. Was he there when it happened? Did he see it all and let it happen? She knows some of her more liberal friends would claim it isn’t a man’s place to stop a woman from employing her sexuality. But in this case she wishes Logan, somebody, anybody, had dragged her away.

“I dumped that ball and chain, Dana.” He leans in. “How about another kiss?” Another kiss? She goes cold. She doesn’t remember that. But the video was dark and it started halfway through anything. Stopped before… She breaks into a sweat. “Want to go to my room? We can chill.”  

“No. No, thank you.” He presses his lips to her ears and she feels his tongue, too wet on her. She yanks away but he holds tight. “Logan—please—”

“That’s right, baby. You’re going to be begging for it—”

“Is something going on here?” Kate looks up. Oh, oh, thank you, God. Mr. Jefferson. Logan hops to his feet. Kate discretely wipes her ear. “You want to tell me what’s going on, Logan? Tell me that wasn’t what I thought it looked like.”

“You’ve got the wrong idea,” Logan says. “Kate and I were just talking about the upcoming game.” He scowls at her and wipes his hands. “Go Bigfoots!” He trots off to Zachary’s side, the two of them getting into a hushed conversation and casting glances in her direction.

“Was he bothering you?” Jefferson asks.

“Not anymore.” She rises, still wiping at her ear, still feeling the slug like contact against her skin. “Thank you.”

“Kate, please. I’m not only your photography teacher. It’s my job to keep the students safe from… well, some of the unwanted attention they might get from time to time. Are you all right?” She nods again. “Listen, administration would kill me for saying this but I ah— I really gotta say—these boys can get pretty rowdy sometimes. Especially Nathan and his Vortex Club buddies. Promise me you’ll be careful around them? Teen boys can be monsters.”

Kate’s throat goes dry. “Yes.” She bows her head. “I know. Thank you for watching over me, Mr. Jefferson.”

“Don’t mention it.” He watches her. She supposes it’s lame that she, like the rest of the student body at Blackwell, has a crush on him, too. He’s so much older than she is. But he’s so talented. There has to be something pure and beautiful about those who create beautiful art. And he is such a talent. “Kate… I have to ask. Has something been troubling you? You’ve seemed… out of sorts. Is there anything you want to talk about?”

“No.” Her voice is small. She can’t meet his eyes. She’s out in the open, talking to Mr. Jefferson but she feels cornered. “Thank you, Mr. Jefferson.”

“The offer’s on the table if you change your mind. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to track some students down about their projects.” He pats her shoulder twice, his hand lingering on the second pat. She looks up at him and he smiles before moving on his way.

Kate decides to leave, too. Without her defender, she’s not sure how much longer she can linger at the boys’ dorms. She’s near the exit when she hears shouts. _Stay the fuck away from me, you geek pussy!_ _Stupid bitch. Stupid fucking bitches! I’ll make you pay. I’m Nathan fucking Prescott!_

Kate searches around her for an escape but doesn’t see one. She wanted to talk to Nathan. But not if he’s like this. He sounds so scary. She’s petrified. He storms up in her direction, stopping directly in front of her. His face is flushed, his shirt disheveled. There’s blood on his fist. Why would this man help her? Why would he help anyone? There are three scratches on his face, bleeding lightly. He stops in front of her as if hitting a brick wall.

She wants to say his name but can only stare. She looks at him and sees bright lights. Hears a soft voice. Feels a bite on her neck. She lifts a hand reflexively as if to ward the sting. “Well?” he demands. “What is it?”

“I wanted… I wanted to…”

“What?” She can’t speak. “I don’t have time for this. Get out of my face!”

“Nathan!” Kate and Nathan turn back. It’s Mr. Jefferson again. “Just the student I was looking for. I wanted to speak to you about your project but I’d be remiss if I didn’t address your behavior. Now, I know you think you run this school but that’s no way to talk to a fellow student. Come see in my office. Erm. After you get yourself cleaned up.” Nathan looks as if he’s just been scolded. His eyes glisten. “But before you go, I’d like you to apologize to Kate.”

Nathan rolls his fists, his jaw tight. “Sorry,” he growls at her.

Kate bites her lip. Doesn’t she have to respond? Doesn’t she have to forgive him? “It’s fine.”  

His eyes soften. A moment later he’s gone. Jefferson remains. _You are so beautiful. Stay. Right. There._ Kate blinks. He hasn’t said anything but she hears the words in her mind, in his voice. She feels… she doesn’t like how she feels. “It seems we’re bound to keep running into each other. Listen, Kate—I really do have to insist. You should clear out of here. I know Blackwell has a great reputation for student safety—”

“What about Rachel Amber?”

He pauses, lifting a hand as if to deflect any further questioning. “A great student. Where ever she is… well, you know how she was. Her head was always in the clouds. She wanted bigger and better than Arcadia Bay. And I’m sure she found it. I have no doubt she’s breaking the scene in LA and not even thinking of looking back. But in the meantime, you should be aware that not all campuses are as safe as they’d like for you to believe. The hard truth is that women are more vulnerable than men. Now, I’ve uh—I’ve seen how the boys have been looking at you… and… if I might say—I’ve seen that video.”

“You’ve seen…” her voice is wispy. She’s lightheaded. Why would he look at that? How could he look at that? How could any of them? It makes her feel violated all over again.

“It was brought to my attention. I’m sure by now you know how the student body is talking about it. Now—I wanted to be delicate. I appreciate this situation must be difficult for you. But Kate, if you keep hanging around the boys’ dorms—you must understand why they think you’re looking for uh—affection.”

“Affection?” She backs away. Colder still. She can’t breathe. She bumps into a body.

Warren. His face is bruised, his nose and lip are bleeding. His eyes are so kind. “Hey Kate—are you—” He takes careful hold of her shoulders to steady her but she tears herself away from him.

“Go away. Leave me alone!”

She walks briskly, ignoring Warren and Jefferson’s shouts. Snow falls on a hot autumn day but she doesn’t notice. She can’t escape her thoughts, their condemnation. How can she bear such shame and live? Everyone thinks she’s disgusting. She is disgusting. They think she wanted it. Did she want it? Did she ask for it? She doesn’t remember. Why can’t she remember?

* * *

A/N: How does Max even function. Also, I felt that fucking bunny needed a name (even if I'm unhappy with it). Finally, a(nother) Kate chapter!

Edit: Thanks for the reminder, Waktak! I remembered later and fixed it on my file but not the site. Whoops. Should be fixed now.

 

 


	8. Downers pt 2

Her nose itches.

Chloe squints, twitches her nose and listens to the machine pumping air in and out of her lungs. Her head feels like someone took to it with a sledgehammer. Which is just awesome. She once thought there was nothing worse than not feeling. She figures that’s life’s little joke on her. She’s not angry, really. Life isn’t fair. She’s come to terms with that. It’s okay.

It’s been two weeks since she last saw Max. There was a bit of a thunderstorm the following day. Her parents freaked. If the medical equipment died during a storm, so would she. Of course, they’ve taken all the necessary safety precautions. Because they’re good parents and they love her. Even if she’s drowning them in debt. Even if they fight because of her. They think she can’t her them but she can. But whenever they come to her, it’s always smiles and patience and love.

How can she be ungrateful? She isn’t and if she was, she wouldn’t have the right. She’s been tasting blood in the back of her throat. Deeper in her chest. It hurts, sure, but she’s not the only one hurting. Her parents have suffered right along with her. Some small part of them, she thinks, probably wish she had died. They might have had a life. Some kind of closure. They could have gotten a dog.

She hardly sees them, they work so hard. Instead she gets nurses. Throughout the years some have left, either moved or married or got some gig that paid better. So she has to get used to the new ones. Along with all the bullshit of getting to know them, having them bathe, change and wipe her.

If she weren’t in this goddamn bed, Max would be here. Or she could be out there, living some kind of life. Not that she’ll be in this one much longer Seconds pass and she tastes salt on her lips. She licks away the tears and listens to her raspy breath. Rhonda, the latest nurse, walks in. She comes over like a mother hen. “Oh Chloe, honey, are you okay?”

The depressing bleats of Twin Peaks play on the television. Chloe wonders if anything like that ever happens in little towns like Arcadia Bay. Laura Palmer: a young woman gone, an angel to some, a junky whore to others, her murderer on the prowl as Laura’s death tears apart everyone who knew her. “Don’t mind me. I’m just weeping over the lack of a third season.”

“That show was on when _I_ was a young woman. Did you watch the movie?”

“ _Fire, Walk With Me_? You bet your ass.” She found a few forums online to chat with others about it. Normally she would have gone to Max or Megan—but both were gone.

Rhonda harrumphs. “That movie was too dark for my tastes. This world is sad enough. You want me to put in the next disc for you?”

“Yes, please. Makes me feel better to dwell on someone else’s misery. The life of Laura Palmer makes my own look like rainbows and unicorns, you know?” The doorbell rings. Rhonda puts in the next disc and Chloe looks out the bedroom door but can’t see anything. Likely it’s the mailman delivering more of her expensive medical shit. “If it’s another collection agency tell them they can come in here and unplug the equipment if they’re so insistent on taking it back.”

“Girl, you are a spitfire.” She shakes her head. “I’ll let them know where they can stuff their notices.”

“Hell yeah,” Chloe says cheerfully, turning her attention to the FBI Warning label. She’s watched so many fucking movies without the option of skipping past it that she’s got it memorized by now.  She settles her head more firmly into the pillow. The tape holding the tube in her neck is scratching. She’s getting real damn tired of having an itch she can’t scratch. What would Max think of that hole in her neck? Would it make her want to puke? The thought’s depressing. Rhonda returns. “Was it the collectors?” Rhonda shakes her head. “Girl Scouts? Please tell me you bought a crate’s worth of samoas.”

“They might have been girl scouts years ago. There’s a Maxine here for you? She wanted to ask if it was okay that she came in.”

“Max is here?” She lights up. “Max, get your ass in here!” She shouts, best as she can, out the door and doesn’t regret it even when her voice goes raw from the exertion. “Max is my best friend.” Eventually she stopped telling the nurses about her because Max never manifested. “For the record, you never have to get my permission. If Max visits, just send her in. I can’t ever imagine Max not being a happy surprise.” Max wanders in. She’s got another cardigan on though she’s tied this one around her waist. A pearl necklace hangs from her neck. “Holy shit, Max, did you just leave the country club?” Her smile fades when she sees another girl beside her, tall and angular, someone who looks like she could be walking runways. “Oh. Hey. Sorry. I didn’t know Max wasn’t on her own.”

Max glances back at the girl and comes forward, taking her hand. Chloe looks at the contact but doesn’t feel it. “No, I’m sorry. I… this was kind of an impromptu visit but I should have asked if it was okay. Or if I could bring Victoria.” Victoria raises a hand quickly, muttering a nervous greeting that people do when they aren’t used to being around the disabled. “If it’s not cool, she can totally go. Or we can. Whatever you want.”

“Max, chill out. I have seen strangers before. They even have them in hospitals sometimes. And any friend of yours is a friend of mine.” She smiles though she doesn’t feel like it. Honestly she’s been exhausted the past few months. She’s surprised Max brought someone along. Chloe doesn’t know if that means she’s comfortable or extremely uncomfortable with her. “Since Max remains as awkward as ever I’ll do the introductions. I’m Chloe Price. I’d shake your hand but I can’t do much more than nose rubs these days. Like puppies.”

“Oh.” Victoria says.

It was a joke, dumbass. Chloe doesn’t say it. She’s probably weirded out. Most people are weirded out. “Don’t let the bed and all the medical equipment fool you. If you come closer, I do bite. It’s pretty much all I can do.” Rhonda watches her and Chloe nods her head. “It’s cool, Rhonda. I’ll holler if they try to take a kidney or something.” Rhonda exits and Chloe forces another smile. “I wouldn’t go for the kidney, though. She keeps the collectors away—which I’m pretty sure means she isn’t afraid of anything.” Also her entire body is shutting down at this rate. So… yay.

“ _You_ are in a mood this morning,” Max smiles and pulls up a chair next to the bed. Some semblance of relief is painting across her features and Chloe focuses on her, happy to have been able to get her to smile. “Should we do a nose rub, matey?”

“Haha, barf. Come on.” Maybe if her friend wasn’t here. Chloe feels like she has to keep talking to not feel awkward. Maybe Max only brought Victoria along so she wouldn’t ask Max to kill her again. Legit fear. “So, what are the young and carefree doing on this fine Arcadia Bay day?” Too many rhymes.

Max smiles. “Okay, I’ll tell you but you have to promise not to laugh.”

“Shoot.”

“We …” Max looks at Victoria who smiles and rolls her eyes. “We, no shit, just left the country club.”

Chloe laughs. “What? Seriously?”

“You said you wouldn’t laugh.”

“Yeah, but—come on. Don’t the Prescotts own that?” Chloe notices a twinge of discomfort on Max’s face. Even Victoria’s face closes a little at the words. “I mean—whatever. My mom works for Sean Prescott at Pan Estates. I mean—she never says anything but the guy’s basically an asshole, right?”

“Victoria’s friends with his son,” Max says quickly, as if to spare her the embarrassment she doesn’t feel. “Nathan.”

“Oh.” Chloe looks at Victoria. “Cool. I’m sure he’s a nice guy.” Max bows her head and Chloe sees that she’s holding her hand more tightly. “So… Victoria, you go to Blackwell, too? I went there for a little while. So did my friend Megan.”

“It’s a _great_ school. Maxine and I are in Mr. Jefferson’s photography class. He’s a fantastic lecturer.”

“That’s awesome.” But she doesn’t know what else to say about it. She was never into photography. That was always Max’s thing. And now, with the distance between them, she feels the distance between her and that art form take hold again. She doesn’t know who the hell Mr. Jefferson is. “So… you were taking a few swings at the country club or—”

“No,” Max bemoans. “They’ve actually shut it down for a few days. So no mimosas for us.”

“Not at the club, anyway,” Victoria adds.

Max drinks now? Chloe feels another stab of pain and it has nothing to do with the wreck. Max shakes her head with a smile at Victoria. “Hey,” Chloe says, “Remember when we broke into mom and dad’s liquor cabinet? We thought we were such little bad asses until we spilled the wine all over the carpet. We were shitting bricks.”

“More like _I_ was. You knew you could just turn to William and turn on the charm and he’d forgive you in a heartbeat.”

“Yeah right. He still grounded me for like two weeks.”

“Not that it mattered because we spent all that time in your room drawing comics anyway.”

“Oh, Dad. Can we blame him? He didn’t even know how to ground me. How does one go about punishing such a dutiful daughter?”

“You were always a daddy’s girl.” The way she says it—she sounds so sad. “I don’t know anyone who’d ever be able to stay mad at you.” She leans in, smoothing the hair from her face. Chloe nearly closes her eyes at the contact. The room is cold. She’s always cold but Max’s hand is warm. Max pauses, looking into her eyes, no doubt noticing the tear stains from earlier. Her thumb grazes along her cheek before she sits back down. “And for what it’s worth, I still think you’re the biggest bad ass in Arcadia Bay.”

“Yeah, I’m really living la vida loca here.” She smiles faintly before looking at Victoria who wanders the room the way people do in bookshops looking to kill time. Chloe wishes Max hadn’t brought her. Why _did_ she bring her? As armor? As an excuse to get out? Maybe she’s being unfair. She told Max she never got visitors. But this girl is so fashionable and cool—and clearly rich. Chloe doesn’t know how to talk to her. “So. I’m rude and I never let you finish your story. What’s at the country club if not mimosas?”

“Oh, Chloe. You should see it.” Max grimaces. “Or maybe you shouldn’t. There are dead birds everywhere. It’s … really morbid but makes for great experimental photography shots.”

Those poor birds. She wonders why it keeps happening. Why they keep falling out of the sky like rain drops. “Taking pictures of dead birds is the new teen rage. I’m really missing out.”

“Who’s a smart ass now?” Max laughs again, her hand trailing absently, lovingly, along Chloe’s arm.

Chloe looks but she can’t feel it. “Pretty sure it’s still you. I can’t really shred rails like I used to so I have to work my personality muscles.” She sees Victoria reach out for a snow dome. “Hey! Just because I can’t touch it doesn’t mean you can.”

“Oh.” Victoria pulls back her hand, “I’m so sorry—”

“I’m just teasing. Try to relax. This shouldn’t be a drag.” She looks at Max. “Um—so what else do you two have going on today?” She gives them the opening before they start texting each other in front of her to come up with a game plan. “Blackwell must keep you pretty busy.”

“You don’t know the half of it. Nothing but homework from day one. And all the teachers act like theirs is the only class we’re taking. It’s been so nuts and _still_ it feels a hundred times less crazy than…” Chloe waits. “Than like two weeks ago. I mean— Not like that. Not like with us,” she lowers her voice and Chloe wonders if Victoria hears anyway and just pretends not to.

“Don’t even sweat it.” But Chloe knows they have to talk about it. She wants to talk about it, too. Outside of the pain… the sometimes numbing pain, she’s feeling like whatever time she has left could be worthwhile. There’s so much she wants to say but can’t with Victoria here. “We’re cool. Okay?” How she wishes she could just fucking squeeze her hand back. She doesn’t know that her voice, her eyes, are enough to communicate everything one simple touch could.

Victoria’s phone buzzes and she excuses herself to take the call. Max looks after her as she exits. Chloe smiles grimly. “Last time we spoke we talked of the many boys and girls of the sea. Victoria’s pretty hot—in a—‘you will serve me or die’ kind of way.”

“You think she’s hot?” Why does she sound worried about it? “Victoria’s not so bad once you get to know her. I don’t think I gave her a fair shot before.”

Before? “So you two are a thing.” A malicious numbness, not like that warm glow of morphine, spreads over her. She makes her voice perky and bright, despite how shitty she feels. Years of practice with her parents have come in handy. “Way to go, Max! At least one of us is getting some action.”

“Hey. Stop.”

“Why? Did I say something wrong? Something not true?”

“No, it’s just—”

“Your face is beet red. Don’t tell me you’re embarrassed.” She shouldn’t be. But Chloe feels that profound sadness again. “It’s not like I expect to actually be able to compete with the Victorias of the world. Come on… It’d be one thing if I could be out there raising hell with you. But I ‘hella’ can’t.” She smiles, using the bizarre word Max used weeks ago. Max looks at her guiltily. Why? “Look, as much as I’ve been praying to feel your hand against mine, it hasn’t happened. It’s never going to happen. It’s not exactly cool but I get it.” Max’s eyes are wet. “Hey, don’t look like that. You’ll make _me_ cry. Sympathy crying. Jeez. Do you think that means we’re old?”

“Chloe, I don’t know.” Max lifts her fingers to her face. Chloe thinks of some Shakespearean anti-hero, losing their shit over all the bad deeds they’ve done. Only it doesn’t make sense. It’s Max. “I’m so confused. I don’t know what to do.” She bows her head and cries.

Victoria returns and stands awkwardly at the door. “What happened? Is everything okay?”

No, everything isn’t okay. Nothing is fucking okay. “Max is just feeling a little sentimental. Ah, first world problems of privileged, artistic youth.” Victoria puts a hand on Max’s shoulder and this time Chloe is the one to look away. She can’t even do that.

 

* * *

A/N: I was struggling to decide which chapter I wanted to go back to first and then there was xnameherex's comments and here we are. This reality is so fun for me! I'll probably pepper a few new ones along the way but for the time being I'll be randomly doing continuations of previous chapters.

 


	9. Light pt 2

She knows but won’t remember that her eyes are lenses, capturing the fall, the force that lifts her back onto the roof, another plummet before she’s saved again. A millionth of a second, her heart filled to bursting, contracting again, still and nervous, spiking to full and pumping furiously again.

It rains. She records. This one can go viral, too. She can make this one go viral, too. It’ll be easy. Oh, Jesus. She’s going to puke. Oh, Jesus. What has she done? The day is grey and chilly. This isn’t the snow of yesterday, just a cold penetrating rain, despite the hot dots and beads, salty on her cheeks as she watches Kate’s back. She can’t see her cross from here. She can’t see that light. Did she take it from her…?

Save her. Someone. Anyone.

“Jesus, she’s going to jump,” Taylor whispers frantically. “Oh my God.” Her hands shake, holding up her cell to get it on camera.

Victoria lowers her cell phone, stopping the recording. Mr. Jefferson says always take the shot. She tries to always follow that philosophy. What can be wrong about capturing life, even if it’s shitty and horrible? That’s the purpose of art. But this is different, isn’t it? Wrong. This is what caused all this shit to begin with. Shit. She’d thought it was so funny. “She’s not going to jump.” She can’t jump. If she jumps it’s her fault. She’s the one who put that fucking link in the girl’s bathroom mirror this morning. _You’ll be sorry someday._ She laughed at her. And now she’s going to kill herself.

“Someone’s up there with her.”

Victoria pushes through the crowd, closer, next to Nathan who stands transfixed. She’s never seen that expression on his face. They exchange a brief look but say nothing. Eventually she feels his hand wrap around her own, squeezing tight and Victoria doesn’t know who’s holding on to who.

*

They take her out of the building and the crowd erupts into cheers. Suddenly everyone is screaming that they love Kate. The words swarm around her, how happy they are that she’s safe, how sorry everyone is. Victoria doesn’t miss the pointed looks, how the student body that previously loved her, yearned for her approval, knocks into her. She hears the whispers. Bitch. Whore. Whatever. It isn’t anything she hasn’t heard before. And it doesn’t matter now.

She breaks out of the clusters of people, moving towards the ambulance. She can’t make her heart stop pounding. She wants to scream and cry. She can’t stop shaking. She can’t think of any drug that has ever made her feel this fucked up. “Kate!” She tries to get close, tries to get around the paramedics who tell her to stand back. “Kate, I’m—”

Max steps in front of her. Stupid Max with her tapered pants and busted up Converse shoes. Stupid Max that she slams at every opportunity. Max the hero. Max, who somehow undid everything she did. Victoria’s face burns with humiliation, anger. This girl is better than her. This girl did the right thing and she hates her for it, for not being able to do the same. For being better than snapping a picture when she was covered in paint. “What the hell do you want, Victoria?”

“Get out of my way, Max.”

“Why? Do you need get another video to post online? You asshole. Haven’t you done enough?”

“Jesus, I just wanted to tell her I’m sorry.”

“Why? So you can make yourself feel better? Do you think she wants to see your face right now? You want to help her? Leave her the hell alone.”

Victoria’s eyes burn. She tries to move around her but Max gets in the way. She clenches her jaw to keep it from trembling. “What are you, her fucking guard dog? Have it your way.” She turns, trying to swallow but unable to, rushing into the dorms, into her room, the door not even slammed shut before she bursts into tears.

*

She cries until she falls asleep, waking on a tear soaked pillow. Nathan’s sitting on the floor, two boxes of pizza and a six-pack beside him. She exhales tiredly, lying there for a while before pushing herself up. “How long have you been sitting there?”

“Long enough for the pizza to get cold. Thought you might be hungry.”

He sits next to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. She leans into him and closes her eyes. For minutes she focuses on breathing, taking one breath in, letting it out and repeating. She’s spent by emotion. She never gets that way. Not ever. “I feel like I could sleep forever.” His fingers grip closer on her shoulder. “I thought I could wake up and it would have all been some messed up dream. What a fucking cliché.”

“This isn’t your fault.” It isn’t the first time he’s said it and she still doesn’t believe him. “Who the hell knows what was going on with her?”

“I did. I saw how fucking miserable she was and I kept pushing her and pushing and pushing. Who does that? What the fuck is wrong with me?”

“She was drunk and slutting it up at a Vortex Club party. You know how those religious girls are. They get crazy once they have their first taste of freedom.”

“But she didn’t even drink that much did she? The way she was…” Like some zombie. Her eyes are damp again and she swallows, blinking them. “I keep thinking of that video. She didn’t…” Look right. She looks at him and he stares back with his clear blue eyes. He’s always been open with her but he’s looked scared since this afternoon. There’s a question forming in the back of her mind. A question she wants no part of. “I mean, you saw her, right?”

“What are you trying to say?” he stammers.

“I don’t know. Nothing. I feel like shit. I’m eighteen years old. Old enough to have my shit together, you’d think. Why the hell was I messing with Kate Marsh? As if she’s worth my fucking time.” She pulls away from him and lies back down, exhausted. He looks down at her, wipes the tears from her cheeks. “I’m going to send her flowers. Balloons and flowers.” She’ll have to send them anonymously. That would be better. That would make Kate feel better.

“You’re driving yourself crazy over nothing.”

“You seem upset.”

He knits his eyebrows. “About Kate? Fuck no.” A beat. His eyes have a shine to them. “You know that stupid bitch Max Caulfield got me suspended?”

“What? Are you kidding? How?” Where the hell does she find the time to stick her nose in everything?

“Said I was waving a fucking gun around in the bathroom and that—” He stops, his expression going darker. “My father’s going to fucking kill me. I can hear it now. I’m just another embarrassment to the great Prescott name!” She rubs his arm. Nathan’s relationship with Sean Prescott has always been volatile. Victoria’s met him a few times. He never let her presence stop him from belittling Nathan. “What if I did have a gun, huh? Would be pretty stupid of her to piss me off! I could shoot her in front of this entire town and no one would even _think_ of pressing charges. Stupid bitch! She has no fucking idea who she’s messing with.”

He scares her when he talks like this. He’s been on edge lately. _Lately? You mean for the last year?_ He was obsessed with Rachel. He completely zoned out the first week she was gone. Victoria tugs on his sleeve and he lies down on the bed, facing her. “Fuck Max, Nathan. She’s nothing. She can’t hurt you.”

They stare at each other. “I really didn’t need this,” he says. Finally he closes his eyes. Even when he’s awake, he always seems like he’s having nightmares. She brushes her fingers over his gleaming hair, studying the scratches on his face. Where’d they come from? Who would ever want to hurt Nathan? Who would ever want to hurt Kate Marsh? “What are you doing tonight?” he asks.

“Oh, nothing much. Just a little one on one time with Mr. Jefferson.” It’s the one light in this god-awful day. His eyes open. “I’m going to have to clean up before I see him. I look a hot mess.”

“You’re seeing him now?” He frowns. It’s late, yes. That’s part of the appeal. “Why bother? He’s a busted up hipster douchebag who tries to show off by impressing teenage girls. You’re better than that.”

“Don’t talk about him that way,” she sits up, irritated. “He’s the whole reason I’m even at Blackwell. We’re going to be talking about my Everyday Heroes entry. I _really_ want him to get a good look at my portfolio. I’m the best thing this school has ever seen—no offense. He just needs a little encouragement to see it.”

“I don’t want you going near him.”

“Jesus, Nathan. Clingy, much? Just chill, all right?” She stands and grabs her shower supplies. He turns, watching her with a little scowl. She goes to him and kisses his forehead. “Don’t worry. You’re still my favorite man on campus.” She blows him a kiss and heads to the showers. She loves Nathan, but she wishes he’d stop being so fucking weird all the time.

*

She’s screwed things up with Mr. Jefferson again. She knows, in some part, that it’s likely because they’re upset about the Kate Marsh thing. They both said things they don’t mean. Still, her pathetic attempt at blackmail was just that—a pathetic attempt. Now he thinks she can’t win the contest on her own merits. She knows she can. She’d just like to have a little extra insurance. Being ambitious isn’t a bad thing. Her parents own an art gallery, for fuck’s sake. But she’ll die before she hangs her work there and the world thinks she can’t make it on her own. Nathan’s her best friend but she’s not satisfied with riding on the coat tails of her parents’ achievements like he is. She’ll make her own name for herself.

She tries not to be depressed.

All in all, this has been a pretty shitty day. Nathan’s upset with her, Mr. Jefferson’s pissed, Kate almost fucking killed herself and Max Caulfield hates her. Jesus. She returns to the dorms, knocks on Max’s door but she doesn’t answer. Victoria opens the door but she’s not there. She shuts it and looks at Kate’s door, taped up as if it were a goddamn crime scene. _Wasn’t it?_

She returns to her room and scrolls through her FB feed, removing all the smack talk she did about Kate from her page. She removes the links. She takes the webpage with the video down. Some will have downloaded it and maybe they’ll reupload it at a later time but she hopes not. What can she do about it now?

She thinks of Kate: her red rimmed eyes and tear stained face as they put her on the stretcher. How unfair that she could see the tear streaks even in the rain. As if she didn’t feel shitty enough. At least Max was there for her. Max the hipster nerd with her weak wardrobe and inability to speak like a normal human being. But despite that, she still manages to be way cooler than she’ll ever be. It’d be nice if she actually didn’t give a shit. Why does she care what everyone thinks? Unlike Max, who is happy to trot out her deer shirt collection to the masses. To stand up to her. To stand up for Kate. No wonder Mr. Jefferson has such a boner for her. Maybe he sees something everyone else at the school is too unenlightened to see.

Maybe pressing Jefferson on the Everyday Heroes contest the day her victim nearly killed herself was too fucking ironic. Victoria grabs her phone and types out a text to Max. _I don’t know how the hell you got up on that roof with Kate today but I just wanted to say I’m so glad you did. I pushed Kate up there and you—_

She deletes it and lights up a bowl. She needs something to take the edge off.

Nathan texts. _Yo! Back in your room yet?_

_Checking up on me?_

_> :(_

_Yes, I’m here. Mr. Jefferson was tragically well-behaved._ She waits and types again. _Do you want to go see Kate Marsh tomorrow?_

She waits for a response but doesn’t get one. She loads the video of Kate up on the roof on her phone. The students murmur anxiously but all Victoria can see is Kate up there, arms stretched out. A cross in all the grey of the sky. She fell. _No, she didn’t._ She’s alive so she didn’t. Why does she feel like she did? What if she had? How would she feel then? Victoria wipes her eyes and deletes the video.

She takes a deep breath and types out another text. _Hi, Kate. I know I’m the last person in the world you want to hear from but I wanted to tell you how sorry I am about everything I’ve said and done. I’m so glad Max was able to help you today. I’d like to come and apologize personally but I totally get it if you’re opposed. Let me know. All of us at Blackwell are thinking about you. Xoxo - Vic_

She sends it before she can take it back.

*

Victoria hates how hospitals smell. She hates their muted colors, the way everything is bleached white like bones. She hates everyone carrying their misery like the newest haute couture fashion. Everyone looks neutral, as if making an expression will be the straw that breaks the camel’s back. She doesn’t give a shit about the circle of life. This is where people come to die.

But Kate isn’t dead. Kate isn’t dead. Kate isn’t dead. She repeats it like a mantra.

She wanders the gift shop, looking at the sappy collection of cards with soft pastel colors and watercolor flower art. The only photographs are cats and puppies. There are several shirts for infants and toddlers, the hottest best selling books and a few books on grieving. Victoria touches the spine of one such book: _The Year of Magical Thinking_ and pulls her hand back.

She’s stalling.

Nathan never responded to her text. Being here feels like some unnamed betrayal. As if she’s chosen a side. It’s stupid. She catches her reflection in the gift shop window. Her make-up is impeccable. No one could know she spent half of the night crying. Jesus, what would Taylor and Courtney say? She didn’t tell them she’s here either. They’re both prepping for the upcoming Vortex Club party. Vortex Club parties are what started this entire mess to begin with.

It’s late afternoon and she’s had enough of the heart to hearts in every class, every student using the opportunity to talk about how Kate’s suicide attempt led to _their_ growth. She leaves the gift shop, passing the waiting area where people drink shitty coffee out of recycled cups. MSNBC warbles on a flat screen tv in the background. She’s already signed a class card and wrote a postcard at four in the morning but being here physically seemed important.

She checks her phone again. She has half a bar. She takes a breath and moves down the hall. Her footsteps are too heavy, each step too loud. She never got a response from Kate. Her heart hammers. What if she’s with family? What if she’s with her guard dog, Max? Jesus, why is she so fucking nervous?

She knocks on the door and stands there for a minute before realizing she might have already been asked to enter. She opens the door and steps inside. She doesn’t see the flowers or balloons she had sent and wonders if Kate gave them away or they were never delivered to begin with. Her anxiety skyrockets.

Kate lifts her head. Victoria thinks of Kate’s breath, warm on her neck, pleading for help the night she decided she would make her life a living hell. Kate tried to kiss her. Victoria pushes the thought out of her mind. “Hi.” Victoria says. Her voice is too loud. “I knocked.” She looks at her, at the curtains, the bed, the short-sleeved shirt Kate wears, flowers threaded in a circle. “I texted you. And sent a postcard.” She grimaces and crosses her arms and looks off. “I don’t know if you got them.”

“I got them.” Victoria can’t look at her. She’s freezing. Her heart won’t calm down. “You can sit,” Kate offers. “If you want.”

Victoria looks around the room, considers the chair closest to the door but sits in the one opposite of where Kate is. Victoria looks out the window. They’re several stories high. Can the windows go up? Can Kate just jump out if she changes her mind about living? Where the hell are all the security measures? “How—” she stops, noticing her voice is hard, defensive. She swallows and leans back into the chair, crossing one leg over the other, unable to get comfortable before leaning forward and lacing her fingers nervously. “You’re probably surprised to see me here.”

“A little.” She looks down at the sketchpad in her lap and up at Victoria. She returns her attention to the sketchpad and draws a few more lines.

Victoria listens to the pen making its mark. “How are you…” Jesus. It’s so much easier to ridicule. How does she have a conversation with her? How when all Kate knows is a monster? “Doing.” She finishes lamely.

Kate purses her lips. “Better.” A beat. A smile that pushes the air back into Victoria’s lungs. _I only want to see your smile again._ She doesn’t know why she wrote those words. Maybe she was feeling sentimental. “Tired.”

“Do you need anything? I mean—I’m sure you’ve had everyone ask. If you’re too tired, I can come back. Or not come back,” she adds quietly, “whatever you want.” She doesn’t wait for an answer. “I bet you’ve had a lot of visitors.”

“Mr. Jefferson brought me everyone’s letters. He apologized for yesterday.” Apologized for yesterday…? “He didn’t stay long. Max came. And you.” Victoria nods. Kate sets the sketchpad aside on the table between them. “I know you probably feel really guilty.” She freezes. “I’m not going to lie. You made my life…” She narrows her eyes and Victoria worries Kate’s going to cry and the guilt will push her to jump out the window herself. Kate takes a breath and though her eyes glisten, she smiles. “I didn’t think I was strong enough to stand it. I thought even God had forsaken me. I felt so alone.”

“I am so, so sorry, Kate.” She leaves the chair and kneels beside her and once there feels foolish, not knowing what to do. She raises a hand but it’s too forward to take Kate’s so she keeps her hand down, her rings touching the hospital floor. “You didn’t deserve any of that. I was wrong. I don’t know why I did it. I’m a bitch. Everyone knows it.” She tries to keep her smile from trembling. “I was having a shitty night. And maybe I lashed out.” Maybe? “It’s no excuse. It’s the worst excuse.” She looks up at her. “I don’t expect you to forgive me.”

“I forgive you.”

Victoria settles her hands on the armrest and looks up at her. “You shouldn’t.”

“I want to.” She’s not wearing her cross. “I need to. I need something to believe in.”

Victoria looks at her until she can’t and pulls back, getting to her feet. Her fingers graze nervously along her hair, the back of her neck. “I know Blackwell’s been stupid. Mean and immature. I know it’s my fault.” She always wanted to be a peer leader. And they do follow her. Especially since Rachel Amber’s been gone. But she doesn’t delude herself. She knows that desperate as they are for her approval, they revile her. She looks out the window, the birds that keep falling out of the sky, and shivers. “But it will get better. We all want you back. We’re all so sorry.”

Kate’s hand, small and warm wraps around her wrist. “I know, Victoria.”

Victoria pulls away. “Don’t. All right? I know you’re nice to everyone but this is…” She squints her eyes and swallows hard. She clears her throat, crosses her arms and looks at Kate apprehensively. Her expression is so pure, so kind, so earnest that Victoria doesn’t know how to handle it. “Anyway,” she says, forcing her voice to be flippant, “I just wanted to be sure you were okay. Or—that you will be okay.” She bites her tongue. “I asked Nathan to come but… I think he’s just busy.”

“Are you and Nathan close?” Kate pulls her arms and legs to her, wrapping her arms around her shoulders. “I don’t want him here. You know what he did to me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You don’t?” She stands. “I really want to believe that. You wrote… really lovely things but you’re right. I don’t know that I can trust you if you’d even think of bringing him here. Max told me he was suspended and I’m glad. Maybe he won’t do what he did to me to some other unsuspecting girl at Blackwell. And if I were you Victoria—Oh, Lord, I don’t want this to happen to anyone else.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Victoria recoils from her. “You’re confused, okay?” she picks up her purse. “I know Nathan can seem intense and he’s everyone’s go-to punching bag but he’s only ever been supportive and chill with me.” What he said about shooting Max was a joke. Bravado. It’s what teenagers do. “Whatever you think happened—” her eyes burn. “I have to go.”

“Victoria—”

“I have to go!” She wipes her cheeks quickly. She moves swiftly, stepping out into the hall where the lights are glaring, blinding as a spotlight. She hears the door behind her and turns. Kate Marsh has followed her, barefoot into the hallway. Victoria stares at her pale feet. She can't look at her face. Her chest is hot, her head light and spinning. “I’m sorry, okay?” She doesn’t know what for.

“Victoria. Don’t go.”

Victoria stills her quivering chin. She turns and goes. 

* * *

A/N: I haven't decided if this is the last Light chapter or not... because either way, one or both of them die not long after. I think a Chloe & Max chapter next! Just have to pick one to follow up on. Or a new one altogether... I'll try to be quicker about these from now on. These chapters keep getting longer...


	10. Love At The End Of The World pt 2

Max curls her fingers beneath the headboard, staring up at the ceiling, fighting to keep her voice, her words, trapped inside. Chloe’s hand is clamped tight on her hip, the other trailing along her calf. It’s another surprise wake up in the middle of the night. Max can never say no. She can never tell her she’s tired. She doesn’t want to do any of that anyway. This is the best part of their days. This is the best part about _them_. This is the only time they don’t fight.

But they’re still staying at her parents place so she has to keep quiet, no matter how hard it is, no matter that her voice could tear through Seattle. This is the only time that she doesn’t think about—

A gasp. Chloe shifts, moving her lean body over hers, stifling her soft moans with a kiss. In the beginning that transition was jarring. Chloe’s hand eases down and Max feels her body floating away. Floating away and pinned by Chloe Price. “Come on, girl,” Chloe breathes in her ear, “let me hear you. Your parents are going to find out about us sooner or later.”

“Chloe…” Shut up. She can’t manage more than that. She takes Chloe’s kiss, hard, deep and reassuring and trembles as her body lifts higher than she ever knew it could go. Chloe holds her until she stills, letting her breath return to normal before lying next to her in the full sized bed. “You know, it’s not fair teasing me when we’re in the middle of—”

“Fucking?” Max frowns at the word. “Sorry, do you prefer ‘making love’? You’re so corny. But I do love that about you.” She turns on her side, fumbling with the nightstand drawer, looking for weed. She looks at the alarm clock. It’s 3:17 in the morning. Max takes her arm, diverting her attention. Chloe focuses on her, cocking a smile. “Hey, you’re not getting tired of our bedside Olympics yet, are you? Cause I’m not.”

“Definitely not.” Max turns, resting her weight on her elbow and looking at her. The moonlight filters in, along with the street lamps. Max trails her fingers along Chloe’s naked body. Weeks later and it still feels daring and rebellious, natural. Max wants to ask her what her plans for the day are but even a simple question like that is enough to set her off. She misses this Chloe, with the smiles and the peaceful eyes. “You’re so beautiful.”

“Not hot? Ouch.”

Max smiles. “You _know_ you’re hot.”

“I’d rather hear you say it.”

She giggles, kisses her. “I _could_ talk, _or_ we could do other things.” It isn’t that she’s afraid of what her parents will think. Everything is crazy right now. Weeks later and she still isn’t over Arcadia Bay. Chloe isn’t over Arcadia bay. How long will it take? Months? Years? A lifetime? Questions from her parents about their relationship will just make them feel guilty. If they weren’t in love, would she have sacrificed Arcadia Bay? The thought of leaving Chloe to die is enough to make her cry. She presses a kiss to her breast.

“I like the way you think, Caulfield. But enough talk.”

“Yes. Enough talk.” Max lifts over Chloe, pressing her to the bed. 

*

Chloe catches up to her at the bus stop. One of the homeless guys gives Chloe the look over before shuffling over with a drug offer. They chat before Max takes her arm and drags her off to the side. “Well, you’re awake before noon,” Max says, “that’s progress.”

Chloe leans her head back and Max knows she’s biting back some comment. She’s lost weight since leaving Arcadia Bay despite the steady supply of junk food she takes in when she’s having the munchies. “Looks like someone’s still trying to start a comedy career. Bad move. You’re not that funny.” She smiles, extends the Polaroid camera. Max looks but doesn’t take it. “Forgot your version of the Visa card. Don’t leave home without it. Since I _did_ wake up before noon today I thought I’d bring it to you.” Chloe’s cheeks are flushed from the run and the cold. She jabs it over to her again but Max turns, crossing her arms gingerly.

“I’m going on job interviews. I don’t need it.” Chloe frowns. “Speaking of which, are you looking at all? If you want us to get our own place you’re going to have to work. We can’t keep freeloading off my parents.”

“I’m looking.”

“When? At the skate park when you bother rolling out of bed? When you’re sneaking into dive bars to get trashed? Or in between trying to score at the bus stop?”

“Jesus, Max, I tried to bring you your fucking camera. Excuse me for not wanting you to give up on your life dream.” She shoves the camera at her and Max only just catches it before it falls. “Is this the life you want for yourself? Going out to job interviews for minimum wage jobs? You can’t be this fucking ordinary.”

“I am. I always have been.” She follows after her when Chloe starts walking away. “That’s right, walk off the way you always do when I try to have a conversation with you.” Chloe jams her hands in her pockets and keeps walking. “I’m not Super Max! I’m never going to be Super Max again. Get used to it.”

Chloe turns around. “Sounds like you’ve already settled for mediocrity. Guess I don’t have a choice but to do the same.”

Chloe turns her back to her again and Max lifts the camera. She hasn’t taken a picture in weeks. She’s frightened of how her power was tied to the camera but now she’s no one special. Would Chloe have even looked at her again if she hadn’t had special powers? She looks through the viewfinder. Chloe getting smaller as she walks away. She lifts her hand. She doesn’t know how it happens. She throws the camera. It flies, landing a few steps behind Chloe and smashing. Chloe stops, looks at it, looks at Max.

_Damn, bitch_ , one of the homeless guys mutters. _That is some stone cold shit._

Max barely hears him. She’s so focused on Chloe she’s shut off the outside world. “You asshole,” Max says, even as the tears form in her eyes.

Chloe stoops in front of the camera, reaching out to it with trembling fingers. “This was dad’s.” Her voice shakes. Max creeps closer, looking down at it and the little chunks of beige plastic reduced to splinters. “I gave this to you. This is the last thing I have of him. Fix it. Fix it, Max!” Max stares at her helplessly. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“It was an accident.”

“So un-accident it!” She looks up at her.

“I can’t.” Or she won’t. “If I even have these powers anymore,” she lowers her voice, “I can’t just use it on things that aren’t life or death.” Chloe glares up at her, tears rolling down her face. She lowers her head and Max stares at the beanie, sad and wilted on her head. Max notices that Chloe’s hair has gotten longer. When did that happen? “Don’t you get it? What if this starts everything all over again? I can’t have that on my conscience, Chloe. I won’t.”

“You can’t have Seattle on your conscience? Yeah, that’d be too fucking bad. You have your mom and dad here. I can’t imagine what it’d be like to lose them.”

“Chloe—”

“No. I don’t want to hear it.” She gathers the camera and it’s tiny broken pieces, swearing when one of them cuts into her palm and drawing blood. “Good luck being a barista hipster art school drop out cliché. I’m heading back to sleep. Or get blazed. Maybe both.”

Max watches her go, broken and furious.

*

Maybe she wanted to throw the camera. Maybe she wanted to smash the last thing she knew connected to Arcadia Bay. She goes to her job interviews but can’t remember anything about them. The employers seemed just as uninterested as her. She’s not cool in Seattle. Her wardrobe is lame and she stammers through conversations. It’s like her decision to sacrifice Arcadia Bay undid all the progress she’d made as a person. But what’s the alternative? She can’t survive without Chloe. How could she live with a choice like that? Even if, recently, she wants to fucking strangle her.

She goes home and makes herself a grilled cheese. She wonders if Chloe’s home. She never takes her boots off before she goes upstairs. Her parents have been understanding. _First William and now Joyce and her new stepfather. That poor girl. She’s welcome to stay here as long as she likes._ Max scarfs the rest of the sandwich down, despite having lost her appetite. She goes upstairs and pushes the door to her room open. No Chloe.

Max digs her phone out. _Where are you? We need to talk. I promise I won’t throw things this time._ :’(

She waits fifteen minutes and texts again. _Don’t shut me out. Can you please respond? Sorry about the emoji._

Another hour passes and nothing. Max lies on the bed. What if Chloe leaves her? What if Chloe decides she’s bored with her? Chloe resents her. How could she not? But she doesn’t know what it was like watching her die over and over again. But what does she know of losing her entire family? Chloe’s an orphan now. Losing William screwed her up so bad. Now with Joyce and David… There’s an uncle she never talks to, but who else is there in her life? Chloe’s been different since getting to Seattle. Max suspects it’s more than just what happened in Arcadia Bay. She was edgy in Arcadia Bay but she doesn’t exactly stand out in Seattle.

They’re both so ordinary now. Ordinary and alone with what happened. It’s not like they can talk to anybody about it. Who would believe them anyway? She ends up falling asleep, having nightmares of Chloe getting her brains blown out by Mark Jefferson, having nightmares of not escaping him in that dark room. She wakes up hours later in a sweat, in the dark and checks her phone. Still no response. She tries calling her and it goes straight to voicemail. Max throws her phone off to the side. “Grow up,” she mutters.

She moves downstairs. Her parents are back with an array of Chinese food spread out on the table. “Maxine! Just like a teen to hide in her room until dinner.” Her father slides a dinner plate at her. “Eat up! Tell Chloe to come down, too.”

“She’s not here,” Max says, collecting Mongolian beef and fried rice onto her plate. She nearly starts crying. It’s so stupid. After everything they’ve gone through why are things so shitty between them? Didn’t they get through the hard part? Maybe this is what happens when you throw away an entire town.

“Is everything okay, hon?” Her mom touches her arm. “You seem upset. Did you two get into a fight?”

“A little.” She slides her chair back. “I broke the camera Chloe gave me. It was William’s.” But it’s about so much more than that and that isn’t anything she knows how to fix. She curls her fingers and rests her forehead against them, fighting tears. “What kind of asshole does that?”

“It was an accident,” her mom says. “She’ll understand.”

“You’ve both had a lot on your plate,” her father reaches into the fridge and pulls out a few cans of soda. “Things will be smoothed out in no time. Chopsticks or fork?”

They eat dinner, her parents asking about her interviews, telling her there isn’t any hurry, asking if she’s planning on returning to Blackwell once repairs have been made or if she intends to stay in Seattle. She doesn’t know. She can’t go back to Blackwell. Chloe would never go back. And she has too many shitty memories there. Maybe she should stay here. Kristen and Fernando are here. They’re alive. But she hasn’t contacted them since coming back. At least her pathetic communication style is intact.

The front door bangs open. Max takes another bite of fried rice before getting up. “That must be Chloe. I’ll be right back.” She finds her in the living room entry way and can smell the waves of alcohol coming off her. “Jesus. You smell like a brewery.” Her parents are so not going to be impressed. “Where have you been?”

“Medicating on the cheap. It’s not easy when you don’t have your own established supply line.”

Or a job. Max bites her tongue. Chloe slumps against the wall, nearly knocking over a coat rack. There are snow flakes on her eyelashes and she leans close, wanting to look closer. This could be a sweet moment but instead she’s concerned and pissed. “You should probably get upstairs. Mom and dad will freak if they see you this messed up. They’ll think it’s a cry for help or something.” Maybe it is. “I’ll bring you food.”

“That’s awful sweet of you. But what if I want to crash dinner? Maybe what’s wrong is that I don’t have something to rebel against anymore.”

“Chloe—”

She stumbles past her and crashes into Max’s chair in the kitchen. Max thins her lips and follows after her. “What up, Vanessa and Ryan? Sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Caulfield.” She picks up chopsticks and takes a few bites of Max’s dinner, reaching over and grabbing an egg role. “This is just what the doctor ordered.” Ryan and Vanessa exchange looks. “I know I’m underaged and all but I’m just so bummed about mom and dad. And even David.” Her voice breaks, despite how bright her smile is. She’s trying to make a joke of it and can’t even do that right. It’s tearing her up. Of course it is. “I’m just—so fucking choked up about it.” She wipes at her face.

Max doesn’t miss her parents’ looks. “We all do things when we’re upset,” her mom says. “All things considered, getting drunk isn’t the worst thing you could do. I’m just so happy you came here. And you’re safe. There’s no rush to do anything. You need time to get resituated. And… honey… if you need to see someone—”

“What? Like a fucking shrink?”

“Chloe,” Max warns.

“Maxine, it’s all right—” Vanessa says. Max glowers. Ryan sets a glass of water in front of Chloe. She ignores it and eats another egg roll. “I know it’s hard to talk about these things. I just want you to know it’s an option. And Ryan and I will take care of everything.”

“Thanks but it’s not necessary. Shrinks and I don’t mesh. Anyway, Max and I aren’t staying in Seattle. We’re moving to L.A. We’re just crashing here until we get our shit together. Or until I get my head on straight. Whichever comes first.”

Her parents speak in unison. “L.A.?”

L.A. That’s still a thing? They haven’t talked about it since leaving Arcadia Bay. “Cut it out,” Max says. “You’re drunk.”

“Did you know my friend Rachel Amber was murdered?” Chloe tells them. Max’s stomach turns. Her parents look appalled. “We were supposed to go to L.A. together but she was killed by a fucking—” Max takes her arm and Chloe slaps it back, jumping to her feet and nearly falling over. She grips the table. “Bet Max never told you that. She’s always been shitty at filling people in. I mean, I’ve been waiting for weeks for her to tell you we’re a thing. She was probably waiting for you to pay my psychiatric bills before sharing the news.”

Max flushes red. Her parents look at her quizzically. “Um—” her mother begins. “Is that true? I didn’t—I hadn’t—”

Ryan takes a long swig of his beer. Max isn’t sure if they’re more surprised about the murder or the revelation that their daughter is involved with her childhood best friend.

Chloe slaps her fork down on the table. “Come on, this is Seattle! Gay marriage Utopia right here. I don’t have a family anymore but if we get hitched then maybe I could be a part of yours. Max has been _so_ cute and nervous about telling you. I guess the cat’s out of the bag. See that?” she looks at Max. “Hella easy.”

Max glowers. For weeks she’s been swimming in a numbing haze. Once again, she’s livid. “Let’s go upstairs,” she tells her. “We need to talk.”

“Hell yes!” Chloe lumbers out of the room, face red. “I guess that solves the mystery of why Max has looked so tired recently. That’s my bad, by the way. I’ll be waiting, Super Max!”

Her parents stare at her dumbfounded. Max can’t stop shaking. “So…” her mother looks to her father and then back to her. “You’re gay?”

*

Chloe is propped up on a stack of pillows, lazily smoking a joint. Max slams the door to her room. “What the hell, Chloe? You can’t unload that stuff on my parents like that.”

“Like what?”

“Are you joking? That stuff about Rachel Amber being murdered—”

“Rachel Amber _was_ murdered—”

“And all the rest of it. I told you I wasn’t ready to go public with our relationship. Not only did I have to sit through mom telling me about her experimental time in college, which, by the way, was gross, and help her join pflag, but I had to listen to Mom and Dad argue about turning dad’s study into a spare room.” Way to ruin the one thing they have going for them.

Chloe laughs. “Go Mrs. Caulfield! Maybe that’s where you get it from.” She takes another long drag of the joint. She talks, holding the air in her lungs. “Anyway, who cares about a spare room? It just means I have to sneak in here in the middle of the night to get my freak on. That’s way hotter.”

“Would it kill you to take any of this seriously?” Chloe frowns. “I am _so_ fucking stressed out right now. Arcadia Bay is gone and I’m going to live with that for the rest of my life. I know you’re hurting but you’re acting like a brat, per usual. You want to get over this, you have to fucking try. You’re always looking for something to make you not have to think, whether that’s weed or booze or sex—”

“Oh, Jesus, get off your high horse, Max.” She gets to her feet. “I’m fucking glad that you’re so goddamn well-adjusted to all of this. But _you_ still have your family. _You_ still have a home. My dad is gone. My mom is gone. David, is gone. Rachel is gone! I’m all alone! Don’t you fucking get it?”

Max glowers, her eyes burning again. “I get it! It sucks! And if you want to get into a competition over who lost more—we both know it isn’t one. You did. You won! And I fucking _hate_ how much all of this has hurt you. But you’re not alone. You have me. And if you got your head out of your ass every once in a while, if you’d put down your fucking joint, like, _ever_ , you’d fucking know that!” Chloe narrows her eyes. “I’m tired of having to wear kids gloves around you. If you didn’t make crap decisions, like, all the time—maybe we wouldn’t even be in this mess! You wouldn’t let us go to the police. You insisted on carrying that gun around like you were goddamned Thelma or Louise and I’m always the one that had to bail you out. And today, you dropped off the face of the earth without letting me know where you were. I have no idea if all my powers are gone or if there’s still some fucking target on your back. Do you know how terrifying it is to think something might have happened to you and I wasn’t there to stop it? I’m tired of feeling like I wiped out an entire town to save a pothead who refuses to grow up, who refuses to acknowledge that she’s not the only person to have ever been hurt. You think I haven’t gone through things? You have no idea what it was like for me in Jefferson’s dark room. You don’t even ask because you’re so wrapped up in your own shit! I mean, does it ever occur to you why it’s hard for me to get back into my photography? The thing I loved more than anything has just turned into another shitty memory.”

“Oh, here we go again, the good ole ‘Chloe sucks’ train, everyone hop aboard. So now Arcadia Bay is my fault? I _told_ you to let me die. You said you’d stop me if I tried. Jesus, Max! If it was up to me, do you really think I would have let my mom die? Or an entire town? You can’t fucking put that on me! How can you fucking put that on me?” she shouts, the tears streaming down her face. “You think I don’t already feel like a monster about it? Don’t you know how hard it is for me to keep it together? Why do you think I stay medicated? Because I’ll lose my fucking mind if I’m not on something. I know I’m a loser. Arcadia Bay knew it. And here you are reminding me again. You _saw_ something in me. Something no one else ever had and it made me feel so fucking special and so fucking loved but what if it was wrong? Jesus, we love each other. We’re in love. Doesn’t that fucking mean something? Doesn’t that fucking mean anything?”

Max stands still, the tears rolling down her face. It means something. It means everything. But maybe they were naïve to think it would be enough. Maybe they have too much guilt for it to ever work. Is she trying to blame Chloe? It was her decision. But what if she can’t bear it after all? What if, when it comes down to it, she just has to let her go?


	11. Wet Sand pt 2

_322.57_

_?_

_That’s how much you owe me for the blouse. Not including my camera. I told you to be careful but you were a complete savage._

_Oh, lucky me. It’s the princess of Blackwell Academy. I’ll write you an IOU._

_Screw your IOU. I take cash._

_Still don’t have any._ Chloe quickly adds: _Especially for prissy WASPS._

_Then you’ll have to think of some other way to pay me, hipster._

Chloe shakes her head but adds the number to her contacts: _Blackwell Princess_. She doesn’t know how Victoria Chase got a hold of her number. She hasn’t seen her since the beach party and that was over two weeks ago. She likes to think that she made an impression. Even if she’d put their beach escapades out of her mind, the text brings the memories back. Every now and then she gets a whiff of what she thinks is Victoria’s perfume. It’s never her and Chloe is left grappling with relief and disappointment.

She sits in the truck of the Blackwell parking lot, keeping it warm for Rachel who’s asked to meet up with her. It’s another grey winter day and Chloe tucks her chin into her scarf. And here she’d hoped they’d make it through the end of winter without more snow showers. Spring can’t get here soon enough. She digs the cell out of her jacket pocket, staring at Victoria’s text. The truck door rattles and Chloe stuffs the phone back in her pocket. Rachel Amber climbs in, her hair covered in snow flurries. “Jeezus, it’s freezing.” She slams the door shut, rubbing her arms and smiling over at Chloe. “You have it nice and toasty in here. Did I ever mention you’re perfection?”

“You haven’t but I’m all ears.” She drapes an arm along the back of the seat and peers at her. The night of the beach party Rachel let her stay, as promised. They climbed into bed together. Rachel’s eyes were a fog. Her hand trailed along Chloe’s arm. _I hope I wasn’t weird earlier. You don’t know Victoria. All she cares about are her mind games. If she’s chasing after you, it’s to get to me. … Just stay away from her. You’re better than all that drama._

She doesn’t know why the words hurt her.

_I’m not into pampered princesses. And even if I was, what do you care?_

Rachel frowned. Her fingers grazed along Chloe’s chin. _Don’t you know I love you more than anything?_ Rachel leaned forward. Chloe felt her breath against her lips. Then Rachel turned her back to her and bid her goodnight. Chloe draped an arm over her waist and pressed close to her back. Rachel laced their fingers together. She was sleeping soundly in no time. Chloe didn’t catch a minute of sleep. Despite her night at the beach with Victoria, she was newly focused on Rachel again. Why did she say that? Why did she touch her? Did she mean it?

Chloe fights to not ask her about it. She fights, as she has since that night, to shake the memory away. “You wanted to meet up?”

“You know how I go into withdrawals without you.” She wipes a hand over her hair, brushing the snow from it. “Chloe—um. Listen.”

Chloe tenses. She’s not used to this tone from Rachel. The way she can’t meet her eyes. “You sound serious.” She wedges a hand back in her pocket, cradling the phone for strength.

“I am. I mean…” she smiles. “I’m just… so happy. I met someone.”

“You met someone…?”

“Yeah. I don’t know. For the first time I feel … so alive and hopeful. He isn’t like anyone I’ve ever met. I’ve known him for a while but we only got to talking a little while ago. I’ve just got all of this energy wanting to burst out of me! And I’ve had no one to share it with.” She leans closer and touches her face the same way she did that night. “I wanted to keep it a secret but it’s hard. It’s like… Christmas morning when you’re a kid, you know?”

“Are you dating this guy?”

“No. It’s nothing like that.” But her eyes flit away. “Still single and loving it.” Chloe doesn’t believe her. “LA doesn’t seem like such a crazy dream now. I wanted you to know that. Once we pay off our debts we can get the hell out of here.” But what’s Rachel doing to get that money? She hasn’t had a modeling gig in a while.

“I’m still working on it.” It’s a lot of fucking money.

“That’s my Chloe. You’re the only one who never lets me down.” Chloe’s cheeks redden. “But I have to get going. I’m late for my meeting.”

“With your mystery guy?”

“Yeah, with the mystery guy.” She reaches out and takes her hand. “I’m doing this for both of us. I promise. Please be happy for me?” Chloe nods, even though she’s not happy for her, even though she doesn’t believe she’s doing it for them, even if she wants to tear this mysterious stranger apart. Rachel kisses her cheek and hops out of the truck.

Chloe sits glaring for minutes, killing the heat in the truck, pissed that it already ate through a quarter of the fucking gas tank. Eventually she gets her phone out and texts Victoria. _I’ve thought of a way to pay you back._

*

Victoria comes hard and Chloe collapses against her. Victoria pants hot breath against her ear, tongue teasing along her earlobe before she bites down. A hot sting of pain and satisfaction shoots through Chloe. She stays where she is, comfortable against Victoria’s naked warmth. It continues to snow outside. Victoria flips their positions on the small bed, a knee parting Chloe’s legs, situating herself until she’s where she wants to be.

Chloe focuses on the blonde, her flushed cheeks and chest, her parted mouth, her disheveled hair.

Chloe sighs. Victoria’s gaze is unflinching. She moves like a conqueror. Every thrust is a spike of a flag, a jolt of pleasure shooting through her. Chloe raises the white flag of surrender, lightheaded. She closes her eyes but Victoria slaps her. Chloe’s attention snaps back to her. If she weren’t halfway to coming, she’d be pissed. “I’m no one’s stand-in, hipster,” her voice is breathless. “You’re not allowed to think of anyone else.”

She’s too close to get indignant. Chloe crushes their mouths together. They collide until they lose their senses, reduced to moans, to shaking limbs, to hammering hearts. Just a way to pass time. Just an IOU.

*

“Are you gay?” Chloe asks. She’s dressed. Some of the feeling has returned to her legs but she isn’t confident she could stand if she tried.

Victoria sits in front of her mirror, naked except for a string of pearls, reapplying her lipstick, a bright coral color. Chloe wants to kiss her again and smear it. “Do I _look_ like a dyke?”

“You fuck like one.” Victoria rolls her eyes. She turns her stereo on. Rap music blasts. Chloe makes a face and lies back down on the bed. Victoria turns her head. Can she see her in the reflection? Is she looking at her? Chloe stares at her profile. “I bet you love to look at yourself.”

“I’m not the only one.” Victoria stands, unashamed, her back straight, her shoulder’s back, Venus come to life. “I’m not going to apologize for getting laid. Even if it’s with some high school dropout with no future.”

“So why bother?” Chloe wonders if Rachel’s right and Victoria’s just looking for a way to fuck with her.

Victoria shrugs. “I’m a teenager. I’m supposed to make poor decisions.” She settles a knee between Chloe’s and runs a hand along the sleeve on her arm. Chloe remembers the day she decided to get it. She’d experienced a flush of optimism for the first time in months. She’d been spending more time with Rachel. She felt worthwhile again. Rebellious. She worked on the drawing for weeks. Flowers, ribbon, blue butterflies. Eventually a skull snaked its way into the drawing. She can’t see beauty without death anymore. Her father was the best thing in her life. He’s gone. Like Max. It’s so fucking melodramatic she cringes just thinking about it. “Look at this,” Victoria says in wonder. “So pretty. So bad ass. You act tough but I bet you’re so goddamned sensitive.”

“Screw you. What do you know of pain?”

Victoria laughs. “Point proven, hipster. Sad face.” Chloe glares. Victoria traces Chloe’s lower lip with her thumb. Chloe sinks her teeth into the flesh, causing her to gasp. A hand comes up and Chloe grabs it, using the momentum to flip Victoria onto her back. They’re both half hanging off the bed. Chloe removes her shirt, a hot, familiar warmth coursing its way back into her. Her text message alert goes off but Victoria pulls on the waist of her jeans. For the moment, it’s forgotten.

Soon, they’re measuring breath again, giving only a little at a time, not wanting to give any at all.

*

They don’t acknowledge each other in the Blackwell halls. Victoria moves like an empress, head held high. Chloe keeps her hands in her pockets, head down, maneuvering the crowds. She considers lighting a cigarette, sees Principal Wells further down the hallway and tucks it behind her ear instead. She leans besides Rachel’s locker, waiting, watching Victoria from a distance. She’s with her mean girls squad. Chloe doesn’t miss how the other Blackwell girls stare at the group: enviously, fearfully, hatefully.

Chloe lifts her head when a bespectacled man she assumes to be a professor moves past. Tall and well dressed with a short groomed beard. He looks at her and smiles and she returns it. He’s pretty hot. Maybe getting kicked out was a bad move. She wouldn’t mind sitting in his classroom.

Justin bobs his way over to her, hands deep in his pockets.  He’s not giving up on trying to grow that mustache. That’s determination. He smells like he couldn’t decide between Patchouli and Ax. “Yo, you’re Rachel’s friend, right? I haven’t seen you at the skate park in a while. They let you back into Blackwell?”

“Yeah, right. I’m pretty sure I’m banned for life.” She crosses her arms and looks down the hall, searching for Rachel but only seeing Victoria. “You seen Rach?”

“Not since the Vortex Club party a few days ago. Man, I thought you two were attached at the hip.”

“We’re best friends.” That’s normal, isn’t it? Chloe hasn’t seen her since they sat in the parking lot. Rachel texted that night but as she was hella busy getting laid, she hadn’t gotten back to her within seconds the way she normally would. Anyway, it isn’t as if she could tell her she was in Victoria Chase’s dorm room. Even if Rachel doesn’t give a shit about her that way, Chloe knows Rachel isn’t down with whatever she thinks happened between her and Victoria. Her gaze turns back in Victoria’s direction. She’s with the blond clitblocker from the beach. Another rich asshole. He looks paranoid and high strung. Victoria turns from him and looks down to where Chloe stands. Their eyes meet, stay for only an instant before they turn back to their respective parties. Chloe pulls the cigarette from her ear and fiddles anxiously with it. “Who’s the blonde cheerleader giving us the evil eye over there?”

She’s curious as to how Victoria Chase is seen by the common folk. “Oh, right. That’s Victoria Chase. Vortex Club VP and complete bitch. She’s cool when she’s thrown a few back, though. Or when she’s super blazed. Otherwise she’s way too intense.” Chloe thinks of how Victoria pressed to her and made her lose track of all of her senses. “Steer clear.”

“Thanks for the warning.” Principal Wells approaches and Chloe slips the cigarette into her back pocket instead. “I was just heading out,” she tells him.

“You’d better. No loitering if you’re not a Blackwell student. That’s the rule under normal circumstances. Given the number of incidents you racked up here and how many of those incidents involved fire, I’d suggest you not dwell during school hours, and that’s if I’m being generous. I can get police paperwork against you.”

“All right, I get it,” she says, lifting her arms. She’ll come back later.

Victoria watches Wells escort her out. “Better luck in juvie, hipster.”

Chloe wants to smash her, fuck her. Maybe this is all part of the game. What the hell are they doing anyway? “I’m too old for juvie, dumbass.” Victoria glares, lets out no less than ten obscenities. Her lackeys eagerly join in. Principal Wells sputters and hurries her out outside. Chloe smiles, stepping out into the brisk air. Chloe Price: 1, Victoria Chase: 0. She texts Rachel. _Hey, Wells just spotted me. At least it wasn’t step-douche. Want to meet after class lets out?_

Her text alert goes off and Chloe whips out her phone on the way to the truck. Not Rachel. Victoria: face, hair, makeup impeccable, giving her the finger. Chloe’s finger hovers over the delete button before she saves it to her sd card. Why the hell not? It’s funny. Besides, it gives her something to do until Rachel comes around. If she comes around. She checks her phone again. Still nothing from Rachel. She ignores the knot in the pit of her stomach. It’s rare for them to go hours without at least a text. It’s been days. She ignores the feeling and climbs into her truck. She’ll hear from her soon. Rachel wouldn’t just bail on her. She knows how Max hurt her when she did that. She’ll hear from her soon. Real soon.

 

* * *

 

A/N: For those who were waiting for the crack ship. Actually, I'm having fun with the crack ship. And you'll be relieved (or disappointed?) that I cut out a few chunks worth of smuttiness from this chapter. 


	12. Everyday Heroes pt 2

Somehow it felt like there was a force pulling her back from the ledge, over and over again.

*

The hospital room is cold and Kate spends the majority of the night peeking behind the drawn curtains to the stars and distant streetlights sparking in the dark. She’s alive. She thinks she’s grateful. Max saved her. Max got on that roof and somehow talked her off the ledge. If nothing else, Max and her father care about her. Even with the chilly rain needling into them, Kate felt a ray of warmth and hope, a world where possibilities and living were still worth hanging on to.

She’d never broken down like that before. Max was so sweet. _Are you kidding? You saved me from having to talk in class._ Max held her while she sobbed. She stroked her hair and told her everything would be okay. Everything would get better. When she said it Kate believed her. _We’ll go down together. I’m not leaving you, Kate._

What did she do to deserve an angel like that? Max listened to her about Nathan. She told her to go to the police. Kate hadn’t known Max had been taking down the awful things on her whiteboard. She remembers the crushing relief she felt every time she stepped out of her room and it was blank. It was Max all along.

Max wanted to go with her on the ambulance. The paramedics hadn’t allowed it. The crowd swarmed around the vehicle. Everyone shouted at them. They loved her. They loved Max. Super Max. Everyday Heroes. The paramedics put Kate in a stretcher and pulled her away. Their fingers separated and Max said she’d visit as soon as she could. Kate watched her through the ambulance windows as it pulled away, Max’s face strained and anxious.

The past few weeks have been a nightmare. It was as if the entire world had turned against her. She just wanted it to stop. She only wanted some peace. She hated all that attention. Now she’s got more of it. And who knows how long that video will live on the internet but she has hope now and that’s more than she had even a few hours ago. She settles into the pillow and closes her eyes. She hopes Max visits soon.

*

She’s gotten flowers and cards and letters. Her suicide attempt has already been splashed all over the local news, driving her into another downward spiral, just when she thought she was safe. How long will she feel this way? Shouldn’t all these balloons and cards make her feel loved and welcomed? How else is she supposed to believe it?

The door opens and Kate cranes her neck to see. She’s expecting Max. She doesn’t recognize the woman who strides in, lanky, tall, bright blue hair. Wait. Wait, she vaguely recognizes her. “Chloe?” Chloe faces her, hands buried in the back pockets of her jeans. She turns a fast smile on her that blazes out quickly. She’s sort of seen Chloe around school. They don’t run in the same circles. The principal was usually talking to her, along with David Madsen.

“Hey.”Chloe looks to the door, takes a chair, spins it around before straddling it, folding her arms on the back of the chair. “How’s it going? I—I know you’re waiting for Max. She’s here. Fighting the nurses about tea or boiling water. I don’t know. I promise. You’ll get your alone time.” She grimaces. “I’m really happy you’re okay. I wish things weren’t so shitty at the school for you. Blackwell’s always been full of bullies. Maybe one day they’ll outgrow that shit.” She looks around the room at the balloons and flowers but keeps whatever she’s going to say to herself. “Max has been freaked. She’s been talking about coming to see you all night.”

“Oh.”

There’s clinking and they both turn towards the door. Max enters with a tray and a teakettle. Two cups. Chloe makes a face and stands. “Well, I’ll leave you two lovebirds to it. I’m glad you’re okay, Kate.” She smiles painfully, glancing at Max. “Find me when you’re done. I’ll wait outside.” She stuffs her hands in her jacket pocket and steps out. Max sets the tray on the bedside table and gets into a hushed conversation with Chloe before returning, closing the door behind her.

Kate gets to her feet. She doesn’t know how it happens. She wasn’t planning it but soon they’ve locked their arms around each other. Kate closes her eyes, warm and comforted again. Finally they pull back. Everything from the previous day comes flooding back. Why did she do that? Why did she go to the roof and try to jump off? Weren’t there other ways? Quieter ways? Maybe some piece of her didn’t want to die. Max walked onto the roof, soaking wet, her nose bleeding, looking lightheaded. “I thought I’d never see you again.  I feel so ridiculous. I’m so sorry…”

“Kate, listen to me. You have nothing to be sorry about. Other people do. You do not know how happy I am to see you again. You look awesome. Is it a stupid question if I ask how you’re doing?

“Now that you’re here, I’m doing even better.”

They talk for a while. Max talks about the eclipse. Kate hadn’t seen it, given … everything. They’re both embarrassed by the local news coverage and happily surprised at the reaction of the school. Even Victoria has been nice. Even Mr. Jefferson. She experiences a chill, and shudders, feeling the glance of a man’s hand, easing along her cheek. Max watches her curiously. “What’s the matter?” Kate doesn’t know how to explain that she feels as if she’s been touched by a ghost. “Kate, can I ask you something? Um... when all of this was going on, did you ever think… did you ever think about just getting the hell out of here? Like… buy a plane ticket or a bus ticket? I keep thinking of Rachel Amber.”

“Where could I go? My family didn’t want me home until… all of this. They feel bad.”

“They said some pretty awful things.” Max puts down some of the cards she’s been looking through.

“They were disappointed.” She doesn’t think it’s fair to criticize them. “Drugged or not, that was me in the video, doing those things.”

“But you _were_ drugged.”

“And they’d ask why I even allowed myself to be in the position where I could be drugged. They never even let me go to parties where there would be boys.” She frowns a little. Maybe she’d be asking the same questions if she were in their position. If it had happened to someone else. How can you understand unless it’s happened to you? You can try to. You can think you do. But there is no knowing. “That’s just how they are, Max. They did their best to raise me the right way.”

“I totally get that. I wish they were less judgmental. It’s not like you wanted any of this.” She sits next to her. “This has all been so hard for you.”

“At least I’ve had you on my side. You really are my guardian angel.”

“Careful, girl. You’re going to give me a big head.”

“Max, you look tired.”

“And there’s the reality check. I had a late night. I’m still looking into all this Nathan stuff.”

“Are you finding anything?”

“Yeah, I think so. Chloe and I are this close to nailing him. Suspension’s not good enough for that bastard.” She brings the tea over to the table between the chairs.

Kate can’t help a smile. Max is a quiet force. She’s reserved but she’s strong and determined. “You’re such a bad ass, Max. I wish I was more like you.”

“Are you serious? You’re the toughest person I know.” She starts pouring the tea, glancing up at her. “I thought we could have a tea date here. Not exactly romantic, but I hope you don’t mind.”

Romantic? Kate glances towards the door and sees Chloe pacing in the hall. “Is Chloe going to be okay waiting? Maybe we can find another cup.”

“No way. This is our time.” She frowns at the cups. Kate studies her face. Her eyes are shadowed. Kate wonders what happened to her deer shirts. The moth on the shirt Max wears is freaking her out. “Everything feels so crazy. I don’t even know what’s happening anymore. Or where I am.” She smiles, shakes her head. “I’m just happy to be here with you.”

“Me too. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. Even though I’m the one who should be asking you that. It’s been a crazy past couple of days. I just… want to take advantage of every moment I have. That’s why I brought the tea. That and cause I’m a big dork.” Kate reaches forward and takes her hand. Max startles. She looks at her, a surprised smile on her lips. Max turns her hand, holding to Kate’s fingers. Kate doesn’t know what to do so she lets her. She’s done this lots of times with sisters, parents, with friends, offering comfort. This feels… different.

They pull away when Chloe bangs on the door and walks in. “Hey, sorry to break up the happy reunion, but we gotta bounce, Max.” She looks between the two of them. “She’ll visit later, all right?”

“Chloe—”

“No, I’m done waiting.” She leaves.

They get to their feet. Max looks back. “Sorry about that. She’s really stressed about Rachel—and… the whole Nathan thing. He was… not nice to her, too.”

Nathan did that to Chloe? She can’t imagine anyone pushing her around. Maybe no one is safe. Maybe that’s what kind of world this is. How sad. “Oh, Max. I’m so sorry. We need to stop him from doing this to people. I’ll find out his room number and text it to you. This is more important than visiting.”

“Maybe. But not as much fun. I’m so happy I was able to get to that roof, Kate Marsh. I would have lost if if you’d jumped. You look so beautiful and alive. I’ve missed seeing you this way. And I can’t wait for us to have more tea dates.” Kate bites her lip to keep from smiling. “But Chloe will bite my head off if I keep her waiting. I’ll come back as soon as I can, okay?” Kate nods. Max hugs her again, brushes a quick kiss to her cheek. She walks back and rams into the table at the foot of the bed, gets her footing and waves quickly before limping out.

Kate brings a hand to her heart.

Hours pass and she watches the news. The coverage alternates between her suicide attempt and the weird weather gripping Arcadia Bay.

That night she listens as the rain and howling winds build. She watches storm clouds, gathering like fists. It’s so dark outside. Trees sway at first and later swing like rubber bands. Night falls and two moons hover in the sky. It’s the end of days. Kate clutches the cross around her neck, scared. She doesn’t sleep. It’s six something in the morning when Max calls.

“Are you somewhere safe?” Max asks. Her voice is different. Intense. Determined. Panicked.

Kate can barely hear her over the furious wind. “I’m still at the hospital. Max, where are you? What’s going on? I didn’t hear anything about a storm hitting Arcadia Bay. This is really weird.”

“I’m sorry… It’s…” She breaks up. “This is all my fault.”

“It’s a storm. This can’t be your fault. No one’s that powerful.”

“I wish that were true. Everything’s so screwed up. I kept trying to fix things and I messed up everything. But I’d be lying if I said I’d take it all back. I can’t say I’d take it all back, Kate. You’re still here.”

“Max—”

“I have to go. I have to help Chloe. I have to save her.”

“Max—”

“Kate, listen. I— … I… really like you. There's so much I need to tell you. Promise me you’ll stay safe. Promise.”

She’s hung up before Kate can respond. Or maybe the line was disconnected. Kate pulls back the curtains. Arcadia Bay is being peeled like an orange. Birds slam into the windows. Her heart sinks. She doesn’t hear the glass crack. She doesn’t feel it when it implodes, tearing the hospital room and everything in it to ribbons.

 


	13. Junkyard Delinquents pt 2

The air goes out of her. Rachel Amber stands at the door, a hopeful, conflicted expression on her face. She’s alive. Shitballs, she’s really alive. Chloe moves past Max, throwing her arms around Rachel and holding her tight. She smells the same, feels the same, so warm in her arms. “Jesus, I can’t—fucking believe this. You’re alive. You’re all right.” She pulls back to look at her. Rachel’s eyes are wet. There’s something in them that Chloe doesn’t want to see. “Where have you been? Did something happen?”

Rachel shuffles. “You know me. Hollywood was calling—and I went. Can I come in?” She glances at Max, who bites her lower lip nervously, and back to Chloe.

A boulder forms in the pit of her stomach. “Hollywood. Are you joking?”

Rachel purses her lips, clutches her purse strap as if for strength. “I just want to talk.”

“ _Now_ you want to talk? What the hell, Rachel? I thought you were dead! You drop off the face of the planet without so much as a fucking text or a call or even a fucking postcard. You were gone for half a year, you asshole!” Chloe shoves her and Rachel stumbles back. The purse slips from her shoulder and tips over, dumping a compact, her cell, lipstick. Chloe glares at her, pissed that this is how their reunion is turning out, hating the tears building in her eyes. God, she really was her bitch. Pathetic.

“Chloe, chill out.” Max stoops to pick up the items before Chloe pushes her back behind the door.

“No, I’m not going to fucking ‘chill out’,” she focuses on Rachel. She’s smaller than she remembers, thinner but most definitely alive. All these months she feared the worst and put on a good face. It was so exhausting, so emotionally draining. “What happened to us leaving Arcadia Bay together? Did screwing Frank behind my back not work out the way you were hoping?” Rachel looks away and to the ground. Jesus. It is true. There were letters, pictures—Jesus, Frank had her fucking bracelet and she still didn’t want to believe it. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out? So now you’re back. Did you go to LA and – newsflash, figure out you’re half a foot too short to be a model?”

Rachel blinks her eyes. “Chloe—”

“I can’t believe I wasted so much time trying to figure out what happened to you. Turns out you’re just like every other asshole. Fuck off, Rachel. Don’t come back.” She slams the door shut, kicking it before turning and stomping up the stairs to her bedroom. She goes into her drawers, pulling out the letters and pictures, the postcards and missing persons posters and tears them. She rips the picture of Rachel and Frank from the clues wall and shreds it. It was easier to forgive her when she thought she was dead. She thought seeing her alive and well was the only thing she wanted. Now she knows that she abandoned her just like everyone else.

Max comes to the door, shoulders slumped, looking around anxiously, picking up the scattered remnants of everything Chloe held sacred prior to Rachel’s return. “Who does that?” Chloe asks. “Who drops out of their best friend’s life—we had all these goddamn plans—” her voice breaks. “God, I was nothing to her. Nothing if she could do that!” She slams to a sitting on the bed, hands covering her hair.

Max sets the scraps of papers on the bureau by the stereo, going to stand next to her. She touches her shoulder, drops in front of her, hands to Chloe’s knees. Chloe scowls, looking at her, not looking at her. “Asshole here. I know it sucks—but maybe you should let her explain.”

“You would take her side.”

“Chloe, I’m on _your_ side. I’m _always_ on _your_ side. All right?” Max looks up at her, hands palming her face, thumbs brushing away her tears.

Chloe licks her lips, tasting salt. This is all screwed up. She was in love with Rachel but having Max here like this—Jesus, she was starting to get over her. “I know I lost my shit on you yesterday but I was right. Rachel didn’t fucking _disappear._ She bailed.” She said a lot of shit yesterday. She took out all her rage on Max, who tried so hard but ultimately failed to defuse her.

“I know you’re mad now and I know finding out all that stuff about Rachel and Frank yesterday didn’t help but just a few days ago you were going crazy because you thought she was dead. We _all_ did. It’s okay to be pissed. But you were mad at me, too and you gave me a break. And… Chloe, these past few days have been… they’ve been so good.”

“ _You_ saved my life. She ruined it with this shit.”

“After saving you when _I_ was the idiot who bailed. She’s your angel, right?” Chloe takes Max’s hands, their gaze seems to skim over one another. Yeah, she did say that. But what about Max? How many times has she saved her? Literally saved her life? “I’m not saying you have to be best friends, but maybe—”

“I get it, Max. But not now. I need time to think. I guess there’s a shit ton of that now that the Rachel Amber murder mystery has been solved. Not to mention your bad ass super powers.”

“Just don’t expect me to turn back time so you can reflect on Rachel Amber.” There’s an edge in her voice. Max bows her head. “What about Kate? We still have to find out what happened to her.”

“Right.” Admittedly she isn’t as interested now that Rachel is back. “For now, let’s get blazed.” She doesn’t wait for Max’s response, digging out a small tin case with the buds and papers from the side of the bed. She spent all last night working on this shit. Trying to figure out where Rachel could have gone, what could have happened. The answer was in front of her this entire time. Max leans back, situating herself on her heels but otherwise not moving. “As pissed off as I am right now, you’re right. The alternative is way fucking worse. And Kate’s dead. So we should try to get some justice for her.”

“That’s the least Kate deserves.”

“Nathan Prescott deserves some serious payback after what he did. I’m going to kick his balls in.” She thought the prick would rape her on his shitty dorm floor after drugging her. And somehow she just let that go. Maybe Kate would have been okay if she’d said something. Or beat his ass. Anything. She takes a hit off the joint and offers it to Max who shakes her head. “Max.” Max lifts her head. It’s hard to believe that only a few days ago she had that look in her eyes, constant deer in the headlights. Now her eyes are dark, too knowing. Seeing Kate kill herself has really fucked with her. But what else has she seen? What realities has she been tripping her way through? Didn’t she hug her as if she’d never let her go just this morning? Chloe played it off like she was annoyed but she hadn’t wanted her to let go. “I know I lose my shit and have a hard time playing it cool sometimes. Thanks for being my eye in the storm.”

“Anyone’s an eye in the storm next to you, Chloe. One day I’ll get a hold of this whole teenage rebellion thing.” She pushes to her knees. Chloe grabs a hold of her hoodie and pulls her close. Max slams her hands on the bed to keep from falling on top of her. “Come on, be serious. You’re not looking for another kiss, are you?” She tries to sound cool but doesn’t meet her eyes.

“Maybe I am.” That kiss yesterday morning was a practice run. She never thought Max would do it. She kind of wishes she would do it again. Maybe if Max kisses her again she can finally put Rachel’s kiss out of her head. “What do you say?”

Max narrows her eyes thoughtfully. “I say... ask me again when Rachel’s been back in your life for more than five minutes.” She pulls away, cheeks red.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know what it means.” Chloe wishes she could be angry but she’s embarrassed. She sucks on the joint, closing her eyes, letting her head float away, thinking of that night Rachel kissed her, so many months ago. “I’m going to try to figure these coordinates out. Can you help me, please? There’s so much to do between this and trying to get Nathan’s phone. We can’t get distracted.”

Chloe nods but doesn’t hurry. Any drive she had to solve this has evaporated. She holds the smoke in her lungs and lets it burn.

*

Max sits on the edge of the bathtub, watching her apply lipstick, looking away when Chloe notices. “Hey, can’t a girl do it up every once in a while?”

Max pushes to her feet, shifting her head to the side, visibly irritated. “You know, we do have shit to do. You’ve never bothered with all this makeup before.”

“How would you know? You dropped out of my life for five years.” Max frowns and Chloe relents. “Aaand, I hate to burst your bubble, but that was the wrong answer, Maxine! Correct answer: ‘hot baes like you don’t need make-up’.”

Max smiles wearily. “Sounds like you’re stroking your ego enough for both of us.”

“What can I say? A girl could use a good stroking every now and then.” That’s enough to shut her up. Max tucks a lock of hair behind her ear and hangs by the doorway while Chloe examines her reflection in the mirror. Chloe watches her. Max seems exhausted. She wonders if Max was playing Quantum Leap while she played Sherlock. All this power rewind stuff is nuts. Chloe’s never sure if something is happening for the first time or tenth time in a different way. Has Max gotten answers out of her that Chloe doesn’t know she gave her? Not that she thinks Max the Girl Scout would do something like that. “Want to let me know what’s on your mind?” She runs her fingers through her hair. The color is fading fast.

“The big fucking tornado headed our way is on my mind, Chloe. Getting to the bottom of this Kate thing is on my mind.” She pushes away from the door. “I know Rachel is back and – I’m really happy for you. But there’s still a ton of things that are screwed up and I think a big part of that is this power I have. I… know I sound like _such_ a hypocrite but I really can’t have you bail on me right now, Chloe. This is important. Once we get this all figured out you and Rachel can… I don’t know, whatever.”

“Chill out, Max. You’re sounding like a ball and chain.”

“Screw you. I’ll be waiting in the truck once you’re feeling presentable enough for the world.” She leaves. Chloe takes one last look in the mirror and follows after her, cutting her off at the stairs. Max crosses her arms. “Can we go now?”

“What’s your problem?”

“My problem is that while you thought Rachel was gone you were pushy and demanding and moody and nothing could wait and you would flip your shit if anyone else wanted my attention. Now that she’s back you don’t give a shit. I didn’t take Kate’s call because you made me feel like a selfish asshole about it and she killed herself.”

Chloe goes cold. “Like that would have saved her. Get over yourself.” Max pushes past her and Chloe heads her off once again. “Look, yes, okay, okay, you’re right. I’m sorry. I get—into these places in my head and I take it out on you. It’s not fair, all right? I’m sorry.” Max still looks guarded. “Now that I’m _almost_ done being pissed off at Rach—you’re right. I’m happy she’s back.” Even if she hasn’t reached out to her and can’t even think of how to begin a conversation with her. “But Max—I’m not going to let all of this go, okay? Not the crazy shit that’s happened and not you.” Max doesn’t look at her. “You’re my best friend. Partner in crime, time, all that?” she slaps her arm gently. Max lifts her head. “No fair looking at me with those puppy dog eyes either. You have to let me stay mad at you sometimes.”

“I’m the one who’s mad at _you._ ” But finally there’s a semblance of a smile in her voice. Chloe smiles with relief. “Anyway—Chloe—I get that … I was a shitty friend. It seems like in every reality I’m just a loser.” Chloe waits but she doesn’t say any more. “I get if you’re mad at me. I get if it will take a while to forgive me.”

“Don’t be crazed, Max. I forgave you the second I nearly ran you over in that parking lot. Even if—I – uh—said some shitty things right after. Fuck. I just keep shooting myself in the foot.”

“Maybe you should leave that gun home before you shoot yourself with a literal one.”

“No way. Now that you’ve made me into a regular Annie Oakley I’m never letting go of this piece.” She makes her hand into a pistol and blows pretend smoke from it. Max looks unsure and Chloe climbs up to the same step with her and wraps an arm around her shoulder. “But you have a point. I think I’m pretty enough to show my mug to the world. Let’s continue to CSI Miami this shit. You want the sunglasses? I’ll get you the sunglasses.”

“You are ridiculous.” But Chloe feels better when Max wraps an arm around her waist, when her fingers dig just a little to hold her close. They’ll figure out what sneaky shit Nathan Prescott was into, what he did to Kate and they can all go back to their regularly scheduled lives. Rachel being back isn’t a big deal. She always dreamt of the day they could all hang out. What could go wrong with having both her best friends back in her life? Still, she feels wired. Over caffeinated. Anxious.

____________________________

  
A/N: I was originally going to scrap this timeline entirely because I felt it was represented sort of throughout the other little chapters but I thought, what the hell and decided to do a tweaked sort of AU. Which will be fun (for me) because I am a mean person.


	14. Ghosts pt 2

She wakes up crying again, curled into herself and pressed to the wall. It’s dark. At first, it was subtle. Like some twist of the ankle that caused her to slip into some icy lake, pulling all feeling from her. Then she moved towards it, pushing herself deeper, waiting for it to take her. So why is she crying? “Hey, Max.” Warren’s gentle voice. He touches her shoulder and she feels his warm breath. He shifts on the bed and turns his nightstand lamp on: a Millennium Falcon, the big dork.

Max pulls the blanket over herself. She doesn’t know what to feel about this thing with Warren. Maybe she should feel ashamed. But she doesn’t feel anything. Maybe the tears are some kind of clue but with Chloe gone she’s only surprised there are times when she _doesn’t_ cry. Warren is sweet. He has only been understanding. When she pushed for this, he pushed back. _I don’t know, maybe we should wait. You’ve had a hard time. Maybe you’re not thinking straight._

But he gave in to her like she knew he would, is grateful he did. He’s so in love with her. He’s so fucking nice. Can Chloe see her? See them? Is she watching? Is she hurting her? Or is she too busy with Rachel to care? Max never believed in any of that afterlife shit until Chloe died.

The first time she and Warren had sex, she cried because she felt guilty and then cried harder when she saw what it did to him. He thought he’d he’d hurt her, disappointed her, pushed her. How could she explain it to him? How could she say to him that the person she loved more than anything was dead and it’s her fault?

Eventually she stopped crying. She lay in his bed while he dressed and fetched her some pop-tarts and a soda from the vending machine. They watched Doctor Who and she stared at his tense, sad back and hated herself. Wrapping herself in a sheet she up, resting against him while he looked at her cautiously. “It’s not you,” she told him.

“If it is, you can tell me. Please.”

“No. I swear.”

“I know that look, Max. I know when you’re keeping stuff from me. Whenever you want to talk about it, it’s cool. I’m here for you.”

He wrapped an arm around her shoulder. She wanted to will herself into loving him but even if she could, she wouldn’t. It would be a betrayal and she wasn’t sure she could handle another one.

Now he looks at her patiently. He’s nothing like Chloe. He’s a boy, for one. He’s so put together. Even when he beat the shit out of Nathan in that other timeline, he was remorseful. He’d never pick up a gun. He’d never get into that mess Chloe was in. He’s a super dork like she is, but empathetic and kind and earnest. Hopeful. Maybe Chloe could have felt something like that one day. She remembers the morning Chloe texted Warren that he was out of the picture. It was after their kiss. She’d been irritated but another part of her was giddy that she was someone worth being possessive over. That maybe she could take the place of Rachel Amber. “I just had a nightmare,” she wipes her cheeks and gets up.

If she’s caught in Warren’s dorm room she’s screwed. But it isn’t only that. She can’t make it through a night without dreaming of that bathroom. She’d take Jefferson’s dark room to it a hundred times over. She can’t take time back. She thinks she would now, twist it into something dangerous, but something that would bring Chloe back. Her fingers instinctively grip the bullets necklace she wears. Joyce gave it to her. Every once in a while she rolls over weird and they stab into her.

“You’re thinking of her, aren’t you?” Warren asks.

He isn’t mad but maybe he should be.

*

It’s a cold walk back to her dorm room. Warren offers to go with her but she turns him down. Jefferson and Nathan are locked up. Chloe and Kate are dead. She’s responsible. The worst that can happen has happened. She’s the only monster still roaming Arcadia Bay.

Thanksgiving is coming up and the campus is a dead zone. Only a handful of students linger. Max intended to return to Seattle but changed her mind at the last minute. Warren, she thinks, feeling sorry for her, decided to do the same and stay on campus.

The door to the dorm room is too loud and metallic. Every stupid little thing these days triggers her. Doors bang like handguns. Fireworks. The hallway is dark and creepy. Kate’s room is still closed off. Victoria’s door is framed in amber light. It’s two in the morning. Max smells weed and hears the soft thump of whatever rap music she’s blasting. They’re the only ones left behind. Maybe that’s fitting.

Every once in a while she thinks of Victoria in the dark room. How she was there because she warned her. She didn’t know Victoria could be scared of anything. Later only the bracelet remained after Jefferson had buried her. His sick trophy. She goes to Victoria’s door and knocks. Max hears footsteps, the sound of the window being opened before Victoria shows up at the door. “Oh, it’s you. What do you want?”

Max doesn’t know. Victoria looks better. She’s looked better since the night Max chased her away with accusations. She continues to excel in class. Max wouldn’t know anything was bothering her if she hadn’t seen her that night. People think Victoria’s cold but Max has seen her be better than that. How awesome does she have to be to put on that act all the time? Max doesn’t have the energy to pretend. Maybe Victoria sees the red of her eyes or tear stains. With a roll of her eyes she steps aside. Max enters and shuts the door.

“You’re out late,” Victoria says.

“I was at Warren’s.” The words come out of her and she doesn’t feel guilty or embarrassed, even if she might have been mortified before. Victoria picks up her bowl again and lights it. “I would have thought you’d go home for Thanksgiving.”

“You would have thought so. But I didn’t.” She frowns severely and looks at her. “Don’t tell me you stayed for Warren.”

“He stayed for me.”

“That figures.”

“Um.” She drops her bag and takes a step closer. “I wanted to say…” Victoria looks at her and waits. “I know I was kind of a jerk last time we talked. I was hurting so… maybe I acted like an asshole. I’m sorry.” Victoria exhales smoke in her direction before offering the bowl. _Hell yes, Max! Let’s get medicated!_ Max nearly flinches at the memory, at her voice, her presence. Max takes it, has a drag and coughs, her face going red, her throat burning.

“You’re such a baby,” Victoria nods to the corner and Max fetches a water bottle. “Thought you’d be a toke queen given your company.”

“I didn’t do that with her.” The reference makes her want to crawl into bed and hide beneath the sheets. Max wonders how long Chloe will haunt her, will riddle her with guilt. She takes another hit but doesn’t think she gets any into her lungs. Another coughing fit and she hands it back to Victoria. Victoria continues to browse a fashion website. Max takes a careful seat on her couch. “Are you okay?”

“Why should I talk to you about anything, Max? So you can blame me for all of it again? No thanks. I’ve got enough guilt.”

Oh. But how much can she really have? “What Nathan did wasn’t your fault. I was lashing out and… you were there. Look—I’m just glad you’re okay. I know they found that folder in that place. And we’ve all seen the creepy pictures of…” Victoria nods and Max is relieved she doesn’t have to say it. “How have you been coping with all of this?”

“You mean with the fact that my role model turned out to be a crazed killer and my best friend was his Igor minion? How do you think?” More quietly: “It sucks. All of it.”

“Yeah. I bet.”

“He’s written me letters. Nathan. I haven’t opened them.” She sets the bowl down and opens a desk drawer, pulling them out and showing Max.

Max takes them. The envelopes are soft and crinkled, the pencil script on the envelope cursive and clean. Nothing like that _Rachel in the Dark Room_ letter they found. Maybe he’s medicated. He’s alive. He did warn her in the end but does it matter? She can’t forgive him. She won’t forgive him. She hopes they do awful things to him in there. Maybe this whole thing has ruined her. Would Chloe want her to be angry and splintered? Or would she want her to forgive him? _The way she forgave him for Rachel?_ “Why haven’t you opened them?” Victoria shrugs. “I hope they never let him out.”

“I don’t care what you think.” She stands and moves around the room. Max doesn’t realize right away that she’s pacing. “You know they won’t keep him there forever, right? The Prescotts own this town. They own the judges. They own the lawyers and the cops. He’ll be out on bail soon enough. They might dismiss the entire case.”

“No, they won’t. They can’t. He killed her. He killed Chloe! I saw it. I was there!”

Victoria looks at her for a long time then shrugs and sits back down, staring at her computer, her thin bracelets dangling on her arm. “You know what they’ll say. She was a junkie drug dealing delinquent and he was only defending himself.”

“That’s not true.”

“It doesn’t have to be. Nathan’s rich. Even if he confessed his lawyer will just get it thrown out. Life isn’t about fair.” She brings a thumb to her lip and chews on her thumbnail, exhaling shakily. Max glowers and hates how her eyes fill with tears. “I wonder if the Prescotts will get a lawyer for Mr. Jefferson. If they really did pay for that creepy dark room, who knows what kind of dirt he has on them. It’s probably worth protecting.”

Max hadn’t considered the possibility. It’s enough to make her want to puke. “You don’t have to keep calling him that. He wanted to kill you. Jesus, I should have let them stay dead.”

Victoria closes her laptop. “Let _who_ stay dead?” Max brings her hands to her head, squeezing her eyes shut. “Jesus Christ, Max. Are you all right? You keep saying shit that doesn’t make sense. You’re a basket case.”

Max stands and picks up her messenger bag, slinging it over her shoulder. Victoria isn’t wrong. “Goodnight.”

“Don’t be that way.” Max goes to the door. “I’m scared, too. And I’m sad, okay? About… Nathan and Mr. Jefferson and Chloe and Kate... Even Rachel. Jesus. How does something like this happen? How do you do that to another person?” Max can’t stop staring at her pale fingers in a death grip around the brass doorknob. If only she could open this door and be somewhere else. Be in another time. Make that decision again. “I was crushing so hard on Mr. Jefferson. And I defended Nathan against everyone! And that entire time… I feel so stupid.” A long silence follows. “Well? Aren’t you going to say anything? You came _here_ , Max. It’s not easy for me to talk about any of this. Say something. Say anything.”

Max doesn’t know how to grieve with Victoria. She doesn’t want to humanize her and think her decision to let Chloe die might have been the right one. She doesn’t know what to do with Victoria’s helplessness. She opens the door and leaves.

*

They sit huddled on Max’s floor, an array of Chinese food containers spread out in front of them. Warren’s chopsticks dart over the trays, grabbing an egg roll here, fried rice there, dumplings. Max stares at her cardboard plate, at the deflated empty bags ‘have a nice day!’ with a smiley face on them. Victoria is opposite of her, quietly scowling and picking absently at the noodles on her plate.

Joyce invited Max over for Thanksgiving. She accepted the invitation before realizing she couldn’t be in the home without having some kind of meltdown. What would it be like to be in her room? No. She couldn’t go.

Warren saved the day, ordering too much Chinese for them to feast on. He invited Victoria without asking her. Max was irritated and then perplexed that the blonde accepted the invitation. _Maybe she’s lonely,_ Warren said. So what. Who isn’t lonely.

Warren and Victoria make awkward conversation. Jefferson still hasn’t been replaced.

“I would have won that Everyday Heroes contest,” Victoria complains. “This is so unfair.” Max shoots her a sharp look but Victoria ignores her.

Warren nods. His hair is still damp. He must have showered before coming by. Max can smell his soap. “That guy’s sick. I remember all the girls were into him. I was crazy jealous. Did you have a thing for him, Max?”

“No.”

Victoria scoffs. “Liar.”

“I wasn’t interested in a washed up hipster, okay?”

“Oh, _please_ ,” Victoria says. “You practically had hearts in your eyes whenever you looked and talked about him.”

Max was with him in the dark room. She hasn’t forgotten how roughly he took her face in his hand. His thumb dug so deeply into her cheek that she thought it’d gouge through the skin, press against her gums. His cologne was nice. Sophisticated. Expensive. His glistening leather shoes echoed. Every line in his clothing was immaculate. The light was blinding. Her eyes watered. Every shot he fired was like a bullet into her. Not only did she have to see that bastard kill Chloe, she had to listen to him lecture about lost innocence. Pretentious asshole. Maybe she did have a crush on him. Maybe he noticed that and that’s why he killed Chloe. He talked about them as if he knew what was there. And he still kissed her, beard rough against her face. Maybe weeks earlier she would have found it exciting. She would have been fooled by him and thought she was special. But in that moment she hated him more than she knew she was able to. She bit him and he slapped her.

It’s not fair that he’s still alive. None of this is fair. Maybe she should have let everyone die. Maybe Chloe was the only one worth saving. The thought makes her feel guilty. Everything she thinks makes her feel that way.

“Hey, Max.” Warren touches a hand to the small of her back. A little touch, natural to him now. “You okay?”

She sits up enough to get away from his contact. “I’m not hungry.” She stands and dumps her plate into the trash. They look up at her and it hits her then, their sadness, heavy as a coffin. It’s her face reflected back at her. Maybe she should visit Chloe. She blinks her eyes quickly and clears her throat. She exits into the hall. Every piece of this campus is in memoriam to Chloe. Memories of her spring up everywhere, like weeds on a neglected grave.

It’s hard to breathe and she walks unsteadily, stumbling into the girl’s bathroom. The mirror is dirty. Is that really her? She looks like she hasn’t slept in years. Her legs are weak. Eventually she succumbs and drifts to her knees on the floor. It smells like pine-sol. She sits there for an eternity trying to remember how to breathe.

The door slaps open. Victoria walks in, crossing her arms. Max remembers her covered in paint and wonders if she’d take a picture this time around. Would that have saved her? “Warren asked me to check on you. I don’t know why. It’s not as if anyone is here to rat him out or you two aren’t boning already.”

“I don’t want to talk.”

“I don’t get you. You want our attention and the second we give it to you, you take off. It’s not cool, Max. And it’s not fair.” She looks away. _Rachel Amber is a Bitch!_ is scribbled into one of the doors. Max wonders if Victoria wrote it. “It’s Thanksgiving.”

“So what? No one told you to stay on campus. The world doesn’t fucking owe you anything.” She grips the sink and pulls herself to her feet. “You have no idea how lucky you are. You’re alive. But all you can do is mope about the contest. As if it were that important. It’s a stupid little show in yet another pretentious San Francisco art gallery.”

“As if you’ve been there. And I must say, the retro filter girl lecturing me on pretentious really takes the fucking cake.”

“Whatever. You can go to any school you want. Your parents own the Chase Space. You have a place for your photos. You don’t need Blackwell.”

“You know I can’t put my pictures up there. I want to make it on my own merits. Don’t act as if this contest wasn’t important to you.”

“It was and now I realize how stupid I was to have been so fixated on it. Even if I hated and loved how Jefferson wanted me to submit a picture. Face it. Jefferson didn’t give a shit about nurturing our talent. This was just a way to get his twisted needs met. And whatever you want to tell yourself about Nathan, he was his accomplice. He might have even helped him. He killed Rachel and Chloe. I don’t give a shit if his mommy and daddy didn’t give him enough hugs when he was a kid. He’s a bastard. They both are. If David Madsen hadn’t busted them you probably would have been dead the night of that stupid End of the World Vortex party.”

Victoria licks her lips and stares past her for a long time. Her eyes glisten before she blinks them and they go clear again. “Warren’s waiting for you.”

“Like you care.”

“I _do_ care! Warren cares! Though I’m beginning to wonder why. This little pity party you’re having for yourself? It’s getting old. You can’t go around leaving a trail of destruction in your path and giving zero shits about it. Do you need to see a shrink? Do you need medication? Whatever it is you need, just do it already. We saw what happened to Kate, and _fine_ , blame me, whatever, but what happened to Chloe and to Rachel— Christ. We’re too young to keep dying. Hasn’t there been enough death around here? I don’t want these things to be my high school memories.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I’m not stupid and I’ve seen how you’ve changed since your gal pal died. You don’t look like you’re okay. Something’s gone out of you.” Her eyebrows dip, as if she can’t believe the words have come out of her, as if she can’t sort out her own thoughts. “You used to be … different.”

Max hardens her chin. Her voice comes out blank instead of indignant, which is how she feels somewhere unreachable now. “My friend died. Sorry I’m not up to snuff.”

“It’s more than that. I see you look at that door to the roof. You haven’t taken any pictures since she died. Not one fucking selfie. Nothing. You rarely go to class. The only reason you haven’t been kicked out is because the faculty feels sorry for you.”

“I don’t like photography anymore.”

“Are you even hearing yourself?” Max stares at her. Victoria shakes her head. “If you’re over it, why are you here?”

“I don’t know.” She speaks stiltedly, barely able to grasp the words. “I don’t know what people are thinking. Or the right thing to say. I can’t fix things. I can’t bring her back.” There’s a long beat. “I don’t know how to live anymore.” It was only a week. One week where she had more power than any person should. To be liked and popular. One week… where she was the most normal she’s ever been. And one week to go back to being nothing. Without her power she’s as lost and helpless as Chloe was in that wheelchair reality. More so.

Victoria steps closer. “No one knows how to live. We all pretend like we do and make it up as we go along.” That’s true for anyone but her. It used to be. “Don’t beat yourself up. You couldn’t have saved her.” A hot tear burns a path down her cheek. Victoria makes a face, as if she’s annoyed but then her hand comes up and she tentatively wipes it away. Max remembers Victoria crying in the dark room, terrified for her life. Max said she’d get them out of it. She did. She didn’t. Victoria takes her hand. “Let’s get back to Warren.”

Victoria holds her hand and tugs. Every few seconds she looks back as if to make sure she’s still there. Her fingers squeeze when Max’s legs slow. Max wonders if the guilt will ever go away.

*

A/N: To the people who finished that first section, thanks! Ah, this chapter. One day I'll stop writing fluff, happy pieces, I promise.


	15. Downers pt 3

Max comes again, her heel on Victoria’s back, fingers wrapped tightly around her hair. She pants for breath and loosens her hold. Victoria pulls herself up to kiss her mouth. Max kisses her back, in her valium dream way.

Max has been distracted. Her moods verge from distant and irritable to nervously affectionate and horny. These moods are usually preceded by visits to Chloe Price. Sometimes Victoria wonders if she’s thinking of that cripple when she fucks her. She always acts like a prude about it afterward, delicately wiping at her lip and pulling the blankets to her. Different from when she walked into that room the one night she was pissed at Nathan, flashed molly like it was wads of cash and fucked her until her knees were reduced to jelly. Maxine Caulfield. Victoria wonders if she’ll ever figure her out.

“I shouldn’t be here,” Max says. She’s turned to face the wall.

Victoria stares at her back. “Thanks, Maxine. That’s just what a girl wants to hear after a screw.” She gets up and slips into her underwear and strapless shirt. Max turns to look at her. She has freckles everywhere. “What’s with you? You were never this much of a drag.”

“It’s not you.”

“I fucking know that.” She does. Even if she does feel a twinge of… _something_. Irritation, maybe, at the existence of Chloe Price. Which probably makes her a bitch. And not only that, pathetic. _What total loser is jealous of a paraplegic?_ She’s got everything. There’s nothing to be jealous of. Max looks sad, which only pisses Victoria off more. It makes her want to forgive her and _Maxine_ is the one who ought to be apologizing. When was the last time Max sexed her? Max takes her wrist and pulls her into the bed. Victoria grudgingly gets in.

“I think… I think you’re really great sometimes.”

“When I’m between your legs?”

“No. I mean—yes, sure, then too. But…” Her face is beet red. She buries it in the pillow. “I’m such an asshole.” _I know._ Somehow she doesn’t say it. Eventually Max lifts her face. “This reality is weird. Everything about it is … so different. And depressing.”

“News flash: There’s only one reality, Maxine, and this is it.” Why does she look at her as if she were unenlightened and she pities her for it? “We spend all day at Blackwell with one of the hottest teachers around and our nights partying. Everyone talks shit about the Vortex Club but that’s because they’re all dying to be a part of it. We fucking rule this town. What’s so depressing about that?” She looks deep in thought. “You’ve been acting like a total loser since you started visiting Chloe.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Why not? It’s true. Look, what we do is fun. But lately it seems to be more about Chloe than anything. Maybe you’d rather be fucking her. Whatever. Go for it. Just be ready to do all the work. And don’t expect me to sit by the phone waiting.”

“Jesus, Victoria. Don’t be a bitch.”

“Tell me you haven’t thought about it.”

Her face reddens further. She can’t say she wasn’t expecting a confirmation. It still takes her by surprise and her breath along with it. “Chloe’s my friend.” Her hand slides up to Victoria’s arm, grabbing it too tightly. Victoria nearly jerks it back. “I’m just… I’ve got a lot on my mind. Don’t you ever feel confused about things?”

Of course she does and she hates it. She narrows her eyes on Max. “What are you talking about? Is this about the sex? It doesn’t make us dykes.” Max pouts. “Seriously, what gives?” To think that she strived for Max’s approval for so long. Now she wonders why she bothered. This Max is too wound up about everything. She prefers that other Max she knew, laid back, mean, fun.

“I just … keep thinking about Chloe. I feel so bad for her.”

“She doesn’t need you to feel bad for her.”

“I know but…. She used to be so different. I just feel bad. She’s in so much pain. She’s fucking _dying_. And her parents are going to lose the house—”

“I don’t want to talk about that,” she gets up again and finishes dressing, taking a seat at her desk and logging on to FB. Who wants to think of pretty, clever girls crippled because some asshole couldn’t follow basic fucking traffic laws? What would that girl have been outside of that chair? Status update: _life is bullshit._ She closes the browser window without updating and looks back at Max who’s discretely pulling her clothes on. “Hey, Nathan’s really hurt about your ghosting trick.” Max just stares at her. “He was so hung up on Rachel Amber and then you came along and ended up bailing, too.”

“He’s pissed at me? I never liked him.”

Victoria scoffs. “That’s debatable.”

“Aren’t you his best friend? Maybe he should be pissed off at you.”

“You’re blaming me?”

“You’re not exactly innocent. I’ve read your text messages, Vic. Clingy much?” Victoria’s face heats. This is the Maxine she remembers. The one whose approval she clamored for. Why did she want her back? “What? No funny one liner? You get Courtney to do your homework. Does she write all your comebacks, too?”

Victoria gets to her feet. “What’s gotten into you? What the hell have I ever done to you to make you treat me this way? Whatever it is, I’m sorry, all right?” And just like that, things are back to the way they used to be. Max watches her, curious and scornful. “I thought we were friends.”

“You don’t want me for a friend. I fuck everything up.” Her phone goes off and she pulls it out of her back pocket to look at it. Victoria studies her face. Mountains falling to dust.

 


	16. Junkyard Delinquents pt 3

Arcadia Bay is gone. The junkyard is destroyed. She doesn’t know how long it’s been. Days or weeks. The military rolled through and cleared out the debris, followed by a surge of volunteers and news crews eager to fuel their twenty-four hour news cycle with the latest fucked up tragedy.

Chloe smokes a blunt and leans into a car that’s as crinkled as old beer cans the Bigfoots left around. It’s raining and muddy and Chloe will take that to the infernal sunshine that lingered the first few days after the storm came. She isn’t getting high. She can’t get high. Maybe there are some situations too fucked up to get away from.

She looks back to the shed where she and Rachel used to hang. That survived, somehow. Along with Rachel’s confession about Frank, that she crumpled and threw away. How did she miss it in the months when she scrambled to find her? She was out of her head.

She takes another long drag and then Max is beside her. She’s been quiet since she wiped Arcadia Bay off the map. They both have been, except for Rachel who talks to fill the silence. She was out of this shit. She’s accessible and far away. She tells them Hollywood tales and Chloe doesn’t know if she and Max only pretend to be interested.

“You’re going to get sick,” Max tells her. She tries to sit next to her, slipping the first time before she manages. Chloe doesn’t look at her. She offers the joint. Max takes it but doesn’t bother to smoke and Chloe takes it back. “We’re worried about you. I mean… I am. And Rachel.”

“I know what ‘we’ means, dumbass.” Rachel probably just wants weed. “I’m fine. So you two can go back to braiding each other’s hair or whatever it is you do when I’m not around.”

“What are you talking about? You’re around all the time. And we like it that way.”

That word again. ‘We’. It bugs her. When did they become ‘we’? How the fuck close can they be anyway? They’ve known each other days. Which is only slightly less than she and Max reconnecting and it already feels like they can’t be apart. Stuck together. And now… now they really have to stick together. Otherwise what will all this death have been for? “This weed sucks,” she flicks the roach and regrets it immediately when it lands in a pile of mud and is quickly drowned by the heavy rain. If Max wouldn’t judge her, she’d grab it. “Ever watched a zombie movie?”

“Sistah, please.”

Chloe laughs. “The town has been wiped out. Every time something like that happens in a movie, the people left behind hit the mall to loot some sweet shit.” They usually end up moving in before they realize all the goodies won’t keep them happy. Then they turn on each other. “What do you say? Want to go smash some windows? We can five finger discount one of those cameras you’re always drooling about.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Chloe doesn’t buy it but Max is trying and Chloe can’t decide whether to be mad or not. “It’s really cold out.” She sniffles. “Let’s go in. You can help us figure out where to crash for the night. It’s too cold here and there’s not enough room for all of us.”

Chloe frowns. “Yeah, sure. You go on ahead. I’ll meet you.” Max goes and Chloe chases after the joint but it’s too late. It’s already ruined.

*

They creep through the mall. Max mentioned it, Chloe thinks, as a joke but Rachel was gung-ho. That’s always been what she loves about Rachel. Her don’t-give-a-fuck attitude and general encouragement towards dumb but exciting ideas. It was what she loved about her. That’s done. She’s still pissed. And she still doesn’t want to hear whatever Rachel has to say. She can swallow her bullshit lies.

But Rachel walks alongside her, closer than a stranger would, hair and clothing damp and smelling of rain. Their shoes squeak on the floor and Chloe wonders if there will be squatters that have infiltrated the place to come out and give them a scare. Or worse. “You know, we always talked about doing this but I never thought we’d get around to it,” Rachel says. “Is it everything you dreamed?”

“It’s whatever.” She can’t stand herself right now. Just like she can’t stand the way Max and Rachel exchange looks whenever she says whatever thing happens to be pissing her off. Mostly she wants to rip out of her skin and come out as someone new, someone whose parents are still alive and isn’t so goddamn emo.

“Are you going to be mad at me forever?”

“Maybe.” They take another few steps in silence. Chloe glances back, wondering where Max has gone to. She’s stalling over by a soda machine. Chloe trots over to her. Max is squinting into her messenger bag, trying to find change for the machine. “Want me to crack this baby open for you?”

“I don’t know.”

Her tone makes it obvious that she really means ‘no’ but Max waffles with directness. Chloe looks at the machine. Glass. Fling the right thing at it and she could crack it open. Maybe she can find a bat. An ax. A gun. Her stomach twists. “Come on, your taste for destruction stops at vending machines?” Max looks up at her and Chloe wishes there were more light. There’s something she’s missing in her face, something crucial lost in the shadows. Chloe steps back, digging her hands helplessly in her back pocket. “Well, you didn’t say no.” She pulls back before she runs back, slamming shoulder first into the machine. It scoots but doesn’t tip. She goes back further and tries again. Her shoulder is throbbing and she’s only managed to wiggle the machine a little bit further. “Come on, you fucker!”

She ignores Max who’s spotted a nearby food stand with bottles of water on display. Another few tries at knocking it over and then she’s kicking it over and over again. It’s not that important but she can’t stop herself. Rachel comes to her side. “Looks like you kept your guns in your other jacket.”

Chloe scowls, watching her roll her sleeves up and flex the little muscle she has. “They were good enough to keep you down back in the day.” Stupid stuff. Wrestling. She doesn’t know how it ever started. Tickling. Flirting without flirting. Chloe pinning her arms down until Rachel smiled and said _I give._ But what did she give?

“I was taking it easy on you.”

“Yeah right.” They charge at the vending machine together and the fucker finally tips over. It crashes hard, glass shattering and a few bottles of soda moseying their way out. She looks at Rachel who winks.

She swallows and picks up one of the downed sodas. “Got you a soda,” she says to Max. “You impressed?”

“Very.”

Max plucks the soda from her hand and Chloe brushes a lock of hair behind her ear. She has that startled deer in the headlights look again. Chloe clears her throat. “Um. You probably shouldn’t open that yet.”

*

They’ve found an outdoors shop with dead wildlife stuffed in every corner. Some of the animals are getting dusty and part of Chloe thinks it’s hysterical while the other part of her wants to cry. She crawls into a display tent that has a couple of sleeping mats laid out and stares up at the point overhead, the curves of the tent falling like waterfalls.

Max eventually follows her in, taking her shoes off before entering. Chloe wants to tell her she won’t drag mud in while they’re in the fucking mall but keeps it to herself. Max has always been awkward and as much as Chloe wishes she could deny it, it’s also been part of her charm. Anyway, who gives a shit if she’s awkward? Having the power of a God makes her pretty boss. Chloe turns her head to look at her when she sits on the sleeping roll beside her. “Look at us, having a fucking sleepover at the mall.”

“We used to talk about doing this when we were kids.”

“And the aquarium, don’t forget that.” She makes a face, thinking of all the whales washed up to shore and the stench that rolls through Arcadia Bay when the wind picks up. “None of this feels real. The lights and the fake grass and the dead animals pretending to be alive.” Max touches her face and Chloe’s eyes half-close, her lip trembling. Jesus. Why did she let herself think about it? Chloe takes her hand and kisses her wrist. “Goddamn it, Max. I know I’ve been acting like a total bitch but I feel like I’m going crazy.”

Max presses her lips together. “Yeah. Believe me, Chloe. I get it.”

“Everyone’s gone.” The tears push past her eyes and she hates them for giving her away. _You don’t get it, Max. You don’t fucking get it._ She wants to say it but she can’t. She’s hurt her enough.

Max leans over and kisses her forehead. Their hands lace together and Chloe focuses on their hot breath, trapped between them like a stormcloud, the strands of Max’s hair, falling and brushing over her forehead, the tears on her lips. She breathes irregularly, sniffling until she calms. “My shoulder hurts,” she complains eventually.

“Poor baby.” Her voice is a teasing murmur that makes her excited when she thought nothing would again. She opens her eyes and looks at Max. Shit went down with her and she still doesn’t know what it is. “We should probably go get Rachel,” she says. Chloe frowns. “She went to grab some pills. Her shoulder hurts, too.”

“She’ll be fine.” She holds her wrist tighter. “Come on, Max. I miss being alone with you.” Why’d Rachel have to come back?

“Don’t you miss being alone with her?”

Chloe remembers Rachel laughing, wrists trapped beneath her hands. _You know, if we keep doing this, Joyce is going to get the wrong idea about us._ The conversation comes to an abrupt end the second a bottle of pills come rolling through the tent flap. “Special delivery!” Rachel crawls inside and stops as soon as she spots them. “Oh, shit. Sorry. I can—”

“No, it’s fine,” Max pulls away. “We were just talking about you.”

Chloe hastily wipes at her eyes and sits up, grabbing the bottle of pills. “Not really,” she says.

Max pretends she didn’t hear her. “You didn’t run into anyone, did you?” Rachel shakes her head. “Good. There are a lot of creeps out there.”

“Yeah. Tell me about it.”

There it is again. That something between them. Chloe takes six pills and pops them into her mouth. She washes it down with some of the flat soda from the vending machine. “Thanks, Rach. On top of your pill game, as usual.” Rachel shuffles, embarrassed. A long, heavy silence falls between them. Chloe falls back on the sleeping mat. Isn’t this what she’s always wanted? For the three of them to be together? She thought it would be different. It’s exhausting, having to always be so hyper vigilantly aware of them. “I’m fucking beat. Let’s crash. It’s colder in here than I thought it’d be. Want to be my snuggle buddy, Max?”

She laughs, embarrassed. “There’s enough sleeping mats for all of us, smart ass.”

Chloe’s pretty sure Max would have shared had Rachel not been around.

“Ouch, I don’t get an offer?” Rachel whistles. “Cold, Chloe.”

“Yes, it is. That’s the whole point.” She sighs, more exhausted than she thought she was. She turns on her side, pulling the sleeping bag to her. “Well, you two do whatever you want. I’m going to catch up on my beauty sleep.”

“We’re going to stay up a little longer,” Max says. “We’ll be in when we’re done.” Done with what? Chloe doesn’t ask, only feels her fingers tighten around the fake soft material of the sleeping mattress. Max kisses her cheek, Rachel’s hand sliding over the sleeping mattress to touch her leg and then they leave and she’s alone. She focuses on her breath, in and out, in and out, but the worry and the anger, the jealousy, the grief, keep her up.

 

 -

A/N: Sorry I took so long to update this. I'll try to be better. Is this the emo up to date monkey's paw? I have fun writing about people getting what they think they want.


	17. Light pt 3

Her head swims while her body floats away. She’s in limbo. The ground hurts. Her head hurts. Her back. Her ankles. Her wrists. She can’t move. It should alarm her but she can’t muster the energy.

She’s too tired to open her eyes. She sleeps or is submerged in some ether state. Either way, she’s not really aware.

*

There’s a chair next to her. Voices are muffled and heavy. Her head is wrapped in cotton, her body the static on the television. She’s sweating. She doesn’t sweat. Something is pulled off her wrist and she tries to talk or complain but she can only slur her words. There’s a clink and a rattle. Metal hitting metal.

There’s a flash of light, burning into her retinas. Shoes. Leather shoes. Polished. She recognizes them but isn’t sure from where. A snap, another flash. She feels sick.

Talking. Heat and white.

She’s scooped up as if she were a sack of laundry. Someone screams. She knows that voice. Max? Her eyes open and she sees her, swimming in her vision. Crying. Tied to a chair. The floor sways. Mr. Jefferson. His arms around her. She can’t remember. She tries to tell him to let her stand but her mouth is dry. Her hands are bound. Her ankles.

She whimpers, some part of her remembering what she can’t. She tries to wriggle free but he holds her so it hurts, says things that make her want to vomit more than she already does. This can’t be happening. It’s a nightmare. She wants to wake up.

Max keeps screaming. Mr. Jefferson walks her up stairs and through a barn. What is this place? They move outside. It’s dark. It’s raining. She’s cold. She can only move the tips of her fingers and she tries to catch a piece of his jacket but he doesn’t notice or maybe he only ignores her. He hums a song and sets her down. The wind is violent and she worries and hopes she’ll fly away.

Her shoes skirt the muddy grass. Her knees are weak and she rests against him. He keeps an arm securely around her waist as he digs into his pocket for keys. She’s soaked through. Her outfit is fucked but she can’t care. Why is she here?

He pulls out keys and opens the trunk and with that same effortless strength, lifts her up and tucks her inside as if she were a bag of groceries. “What are you… what…” she can’t talk, she can barely think. He reaches in beside her and pulls out a roll of duct tape, snapping a piece free and pressing it over her mouth, his fingers pressing hard on her cheeks to make it stick.

Now the panic starts in earnest, though she only lifts her eyebrows and feels her heart surge to bursting. “So much potential,” he tells her, “wasted.”

That hurts.

He shuts the trunk and for a moment she thinks she’s in darkness but there’s a light, a small orange, golden light and she’s so grateful, through the confusion, that she nearly cries. And that’s when she sees Nathan, facing her, a red centered on his forehead, flecks of blood on his hair and face. He looks like he’s sleeping but she knows he’s not sleeping.

Tears roll down her face but her screams are muffled.

*

What’s that sound?

Something’s beeping.

She opens her eyes. More blinding whiteness. It’s too much and she shuts her eyes. Something grazes her hand. Her fingers twitch and she feels that same warmth. Her lips are dry. Her mouth tastes like blood. Someone is wheezing. Where is she? Her chest is splintered. Too much air. Not enough air. Nothing hurts but there’s a throbbing ache, her body pulsing with the beat of her heart.

Someone whispers her name. She knows that voice. She struggles and gets her eyes open. White ceiling. There’s a television mounted on the wall opposite of her. There’s a curtain. There are tubes in her arms. The soft mewl she hears is her. “Victoria!” She turns her head. Kate Marsh. Pale and raccoon-eyed, her hair is tied loosely. Are they in the hospital? “Oh, thank goodness. You’re awake. I’ll get the nurse.”

Wait.

But she hasn’t said anything. Kate’s gone. She looks around the room and her breath gets shorter, the machine beeps faster, until it isn’t one nurse that returns but a squadron and Kate, who returned with them, is shoved out of the room. They hold down her arms. There’s a girl that’s screaming and then she goes tired, colors bleeding blurry and she’s going under again. This sets off another wave of panic but it doesn’t last long.

*

The news coverage is about the hurricane that hit the town. Victoria watches, numb mentally and physically, as the images of destruction unfold on the television. Better to watch the television than reflective surfaces where she sees her bruised face and gaunt cheeks. She’s been wearing a shitty hospital robe with tiny flower patterns for the past few days. It must have been the past few days. She doesn’t actually know how much time has passed.

She doesn’t know a lot of things. Why she feels gross all the time or why the last thing she remembers is being at the End of the World Vortex Club party. Everything else is a figment of her imagination or it must be but anytime she tries to ask about it, her throat closes up and she can’t speak, can’t ask.

There’s a gentle rapping on the door and Victoria cocks her head to the side, hoping it’s not a nurse with another disgusting plate of what the hospital calls food. The last nurse that came around came with a ladder. She unplugged the television and took the remote.

The door opens and Kate peeks her head around the corner. Victoria only realizes she’s smiled when her bottom lip splits. She runs her tongue along the cut. Kate enters and pulls a chair beside the bed, setting a small bag off to the side and pulling her legs up. She’s wearing the same tissue slippers Victoria’s had to wear when she leaves the room. They won’t let her leave the hospital. She doesn’t know why they need to monitor her this long.

“You don’t have to keep visiting me,” Victoria tells her. She isn’t used to how her voice sounds, scratchy and weak. Her throat remains raw and bruised.

“Is it a bad time?”

Victoria shakes her head. No one else has visited and it’s mortifying. Where is everyone? Did they only care when she could supply them with party drugs? She doesn’t mention it because it’s embarrassing. Everyone acts like she’ll break if they talk too loud. No one asks why she doesn’t have any visitors. They give her pills, take her vitals and write things on charts before leaving. Only Kate visits and it’s become the best part of Victoria’s day. “No, of course not. I know I acted like a total bitch to you.” Kate has to understand why Victoria’s trying to let her out of it. She can’t be that good.

Kate reaches out, her pale fingers brushing along Victoria’s bruised hand. “We can work through that. I’m so glad you’re okay, Victoria.” Her fingers squeeze gently around her own.

Victoria swallows with some difficulty. “My head hurts.” Kate touches her forehead gingerly. Victoria doesn’t know what to do with her gentleness. She doesn’t trust it but Kate is different, isn’t she? She isn’t like her or most of the shitheads at Blackwell. She’s good and kind… and where are the others. “Jesus, Kate.” Kate drops her hand, bashful or offended. Victoria sighs shakily. “Sorry. I saw the news. How bad is it out there? Is everyone okay?” Whenever she’s been in the halls of the hospital it’s been chaos. Stretchers barreling down the halls, dirty families weeping. They won’t let her go alone. A nurse always goes with her. “You’re the only one I’ve seen. Everyone’s okay, right?” _Where’s Nathan?_ Why hasn’t he visited? She can’t ask about him. “Have you seen Taylor? Or Courtney? Have you seen Max?”

There’s a tense moment when Kate freezes. Eventually she shakes her head. Victoria’s throat tightens. “I brought you some magazines.”

She gives her the brown paper bag and Victoria looks through the collection. Fashion magazines. They’re outdated. Some of them aren’t that clean, looking as if they’ve been soaked in water or splattered with mud. “Thanks. That’s sweet.” She means it. Kate sits beside her, drawing. Victoria flips through the wavy magazine pages, taking mental notes on the shots, pinpointing what makes the shot successful and what doesn’t. She misses her camera even if the idea of being in a studio with the glare of lights makes her ill.

She turns the page. There’s an ad for a product that she can’t determine. It might be luggage or a men’s watch. A man stands before an open car trunk, a models legs, duct taped at the ankles, sticking out. Victoria stares at it until the scream that is welling in her throat threatens to come out. She can hear the yanking of tape, her wrists pulled tightly together. _Stay still. That’s right. Don’t fucking move._

She closes the magazine and looks at Kate. Now and then she gets vertigo and she has to close her eyes. It assaults her now, making the room spin wildly. The IV tube is still in her arm and she rips the tape holding it in place from her arm, pulling the small needle free. Liquid and dots of blood splatter in an arc. Sometimes she feels as if she’s reliving being inside a drying machine, tumbling over and over again. The screech of metal haunts her sleep. She can’t shake it. Kate looks mortified. Victoria touches her feet to the floor, her toes curling inward at the cold. “I hate hospitals.”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m not staying here. I can’t stay here anymore. Where are my clothes?” she’s looked around the hospital room but hasn’t seen them. She vaguely remembers what she wore the night of the party and the way her shoes dragged in the mud. Her hospital gown is little more than an apron that ties once in the back. Kate spins desperately in her vision, looking lost. _Pull it together, Vic._ “I need my fucking clothes. I can’t go out like this.”

“I don’t know where your clothes are.”

“Then get me some. Fuck, Kate! Where are my fucking parents? Where is everyone? I’m—Christ, you can’t be the only person who’s come to see me!” She’s not that horrible of a person, is she? She tries to stand and is unsteady. Kate rushes over, wrapping an arm around her waist when her knees sag. Victoria looks at Kate’s neck, searching for the cross but it’s not there. “You have to help me get out of here,” she begs. The machine that was attached to her beeps frantically. Another legion of nurses come through. They talk to her in soothing tones as if she were a baby and she hates them. “I’m leaving.” She feels stronger with Kate at her side. “You can’t keep me here.”

The staff has Kate move away and her strength crumbles. Kate apologizes but it’s a betrayal. The nurses force her out of the room again and Victoria feels petty for being angry, for feeling abandoned. She raises her voice. She threatens to sue. She kicks and she pushes. She uses everything she has but it’s not enough. They grab a hold of her and there’s a pinch, similar to one before. She fights it but she loses. They put her in the bed and lift the side rails. Their voices circle over her like vultures and she tries to focus on what they’re saying but soon the words slow and cease being language. This is similar and uncomfortable. Sleep takes her.

 -

 

A/N: Guess I decided to continue this reality after all. I'll just keep fudging all the little things. Whatever.

 

 


	18. Everyday Heroes pt 3

Max has been sad for the past couple of weeks. Kate regrets contributing to that sadness, for unwittingly making her shuffle from funeral to hospital room. Max took her hand in the hospital, looking around in a daze at all the cards, flowers and balloons. _I fixed this. I should have fixed all of this._ Kate still doesn’t know what she meant by it and hasn’t asked. She couldn’t have known about the video, the bullying, the way she’d been drugged and shunned by her family.

Max seemed tired and distracted, dangerously close to broken.

*

It’s Halloween and the Oregon weather has decided to give Arcadia Bay a break. Blackwell students have left the dorms en mass to take part in the festivities. Kate doesn’t celebrate Halloween. It was never allowed in her home and was said to be a particularly dangerous ‘holiday’ designed to lure God’s children to Satan. Kate never saw the harm, even if she didn’t dare voice the opinion in the home. Is dress up and candy all it takes to lure souls to darkness?

Ever since her suicide attempt the students have been nicer. It doesn’t mean they don’t talk behind her back. It doesn’t mean the video is gone from the internet. Every day she looks it up and every day she finds it’s still there. Every now and then she’ll find a new comment posted. Some are nice. Others are mean. The most recent one is from Victoria, her icon a stark black and white portrait of herself wearing oversized sunglasses. _Take this down pls._

Her previous tormentor has been a quiet ally, changing the subject when anyone thinks to bring up their traumatic experiences in class as if it were the latest celebrity gossip. Not that they talk. They were names in a binder. That’s enough. Victoria marches down the Blackwell halls, beautiful and statuesque, granting her glimmers of smiles before pushing onward. Kate follows her with her eyes. Sometimes she thinks it’s all some bizarre dream she’ll wake up from.

She goes to Max’s dorm room. If she strains she can hear soft acoustic guitar playing. It’s easily drowned out in the thumps of music from the other dorm rooms. Someone dressed as a specter with a screaming white face runs down the hall, a bloody knife in hand. Kate knocks on Max’s door, her heart beating too quickly. It’s stupid. It’s a costume. She shouldn’t be afraid. Max doesn’t open. She knocks more firmly this time. “Max? Are you there? It’s me, Kate.”

The door opens. Max wears shorts and a shirt with baby chicks on it. Her pajamas? She’s surprised to see her but bids her to enter regardless. Kate does and Max moves past her, clicking the door shut, pressing to it as if having collapsed. The soft music that plays seems a contradiction to the quiet desperation of the moment. Kate stands uncertainly and Max moves away from the door, offering a quick smile before sitting on the couch. “Sorry. I hope you hadn’t been out there long.”

Kate shakes her head. She stands awkwardly, gripping her arm. Being around Max lately makes her heart flutter but she can’t identify any reason why. Not any reason that doesn’t frighten her. Mostly Max has been despondent. Kate can’t help but think it’s partly her fault for the suicide attempt so shortly after Chloe’s death. Not only that, Kate knows how important Mr. Jefferson was to Max and to Victoria. What happens when your heroes let you down? Habit makes her fingers come to her chest but the cross isn’t there. Sometimes she dreams of birds hitting hospital glass. Arcadia Bay being unraveled like a curl of ribbon. Why does all of that make her think of Max? Her voice frantic and far away, tinny in her ear.

“You can sit.” Max tells her.

Kate deliberates on where before sitting next to Max, whose face gets rosier. “I thought I was the only one not doing anything for Halloween.”

“I’m not really in the mood.” She twiddles her fingers. “You know.” Yes, she knows. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes.” Her fingers are clenched in her lap. “I know things have been really hard for you. Maybe for everyone. And I didn’t want you to get lost in this storm of… terribleness that’s come over Arcadia Bay this past month.” The words make Max’s eyes water. Kate wonders if she’s talked to anyone about what’s happened. “You can talk to me, Max.”

She tries to speak several times, stopping herself just as often. Eventually she smiles, sad and unsteady. “I really miss Chloe, Kate. I just miss her so damn much.” She laughs, Kate doesn’t know why, and wipes at her cheek. Maybe the emotion embarrasses her. “I don’t have any recent pictures of her.” She pulls out an old photo from a lamp stand and hands it to her. Max and Chloe—with longer red hair—dressed as pirates. “We were such dorks.”

“You were so cute.” Kate doesn’t remember the last time Max looked that happy. She hands it back to her and Max looks at it for a moment before returning it to its previous spot. “I’m sorry she’s gone, Max.” But ‘gone’ strikes her as the wrong word. As if she disappeared. Chloe was taken.

“Me too. But I’m glad you’re still here.”

“Yes. So maybe stop avoiding me?” Max flicks her eyes away. “I could really use you. And I can be here for you.” They haven’t had any tea dates in forever. She bites her lip. “I’ve had a lot of… thoughts lately. Things I can’t make sense of. Memories that never really happened but feel real. I don’t know. I’m questioning so much.” Once again her hands skim past her thin blouse but no cross is there. “You saved me. You went up on that roof when nothing else was working. You knew what to say. I’d prayed to God so much and somehow you did what He couldn’t. I’ve just been having thoughts like that and it bothers me.”

“Oh. I’m sorry?”

“I don’t want you to be sorry.” She doesn’t know why she told her. “I’ve been thinking about everything that’s happened. There’s been so much darkness over Arcadia Bay. I was always taught that God would protect you if you were good, if you prayed to Him. Victoria’s name was in that binder too. I don’t think she’s bad, Max. Not really. And what happened to Rachel Amber. I’m glad I don’t remember everything that happened.”

“Yeah. Remembering might be… too much.”

“My church taught me that the Devil was everywhere. That sin is everywhere. I spent so much time afraid of living. Doing what I was supposed to do. What my church and my family and God said I was supposed to do. But If I’d jumped off that roof it wouldn’t have mattered. I wouldn’t have gotten into heaven. That’s not allowed when you kill yourself. Because it’s like spitting on the gift He gave to you.”

“I’m glad you’re okay.”

“But I’m not okay.” Maybe someday she will be, but not today.

Max grimaces. “I’m glad you’re alive. And here. I’m glad we’re talking.”

“Me too.”

She smiles then and she almost looks like her old self, despite the darkness under her eyes. “So, um, what do you think of my pjs? Real bad ass, right?” She stands, self-conscious.

Maybe they’re not ready for those heavy talks yet. Kate plays along. “You’re too cool for me to handle.”

“I hope not.” She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. “Hey, what do you say to going out?” Kate grows nervous. “I mean… why the hell not? It’s Halloween. Chloe loved Halloween.” She smiles now, defying her sadness. “Dana said she’d do my makeup if I felt like coming out. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind doing yours.”

“I don’t know.” Dana’s nice enough but it’s hard to let go of her upbringing. Her faith must be faltering if she’s considering it.

“Oh. Right. No, you’re right, it’s okay. We can just hang out. I mean, if you want to.”

That spark that had taken her recedes just as quickly. “No, let’s do it.” She stands. “Life is short.” Too short. If she’s with Max, it’s okay.

*

Dana does their faces up like sugar skulls. Kate’s still while Dana paints her face, chattering about how excited she is that they’re both coming out of their shell. Max’s face is macabre and beautiful in the makeup, her eyes bright against the nothing of black and white. Dana gives them a six-pack, insisting they take it before they move along.

They pass Victoria in the hall. She’s wearing sugar skull makeup too and seems irritated when she sees them painted similarly. Her hair is slicked back and she looks like another creature entirely. Death by seduction. Kate wonders if she misses Nathan. It must have hurt her. “Happy Halloween,” Kate tells her lamely. She wants to thank her for the comment on the video, even if she might have been the one responsible for it in the first place.

Max looks between the two of them. Despite how withdrawn she’s been, there’s a hard edge to her. Kate can’t imagine her backing down to anyone. Even Victoria. Victoria looks at her. “Happy Halloween, Katie.” She narrows her eyes on Max, planting a hand on her hip. “Nice shirt, Max.” A frown and she moves on.

Max looks down at her chick shirt. She’d put on jeans but left the top on. Maybe Victoria’s softer to her because they’ve shared something. Kate’s happy that Max can’t share what they do. Max looks after Victoria, something hurt and defiant in her gaze, leaving Kate to wonder if she knows anything at all.

*

Max drags her foot on the ground, stopping the bike directly in front of her. Kate doesn’t recognize it. She thinks it’s a teal color but she can’t be sure in the dark. She didn’t know Max had a bike. There’s a basket in the front that Max has tucked the six-pack of beer in. “Hop on,” she tells her.

It’s a one seater. The campus is lively tonight with laughter and music, drunken shouts, warm orange light. “There’s no room.”

“Sure there is. You’ll sit and I’ll pedal. I could use the exercise.” She smiles when Kate doesn’t move. “Come on, it’ll be fun.”

Kate climbs on carefully, mindful of her skirt. She can hear her aunt judging her. She sees her sugar skull face on the little bike mirror and looks at Max’s back, her shoulder blades poking out beneath the shirt as she stands, balancing the bike. Kate nearly touches them but wraps her hands beneath the seat instead. “What if we fall?”

“I won’t let you fall.” Kate feels herself flung upward, despite sitting perfectly still. “Ready?” She nods and Max gets the bike moving, trying to gain traction before finding a rhythm. Soon they’re gliding through campus, faster and faster, past the person who shouts ‘hey, that’s my bike!’.

“Did you steal this bike?” Kate asks.

“I borrowed it. Okay. Maybe I didn’t ask.”

“Max!”

“I’ll bring it back! Promise. I’m taking you someplace! You’ll love it!”

Kate’s uncomfortable. Where did Max get all this courage? This isn’t like her. She’s usually nervous and unsure. Maybe this is what she gets for going out on Halloween with a friend who’s brought beer along. For painting her face. For feeling how she feels.

*

Max brings her to the beach. Half of Blackwell is there partying already. Max drops the bike by Frank’s trailer and they wander to the edge of the water. Max sits down hard. She tries to open one of the beers but discovers she needs a bottle opener. She laughs grimly. “So much for being rebellious.”

Kate’s grateful. She still doesn’t feel comfortable drinking. She trusts Max, even if she stole the bike. They got here in one piece. Max didn’t let her fall. “Maybe we can go find a bottle opener.” She isn’t sure if she wants Max to take her up on her offer. She behaved all of her life and what did it get her? One sip of wine to destroy her life at a Vortex Club party. Maybe it’s a case of once bitten, twice shy. She tries not to drive herself crazy over it. She can’t remember the last time she came to the beach. She inhales the smell of the salty ocean water, the bonfires strung along the beach like lights. “Someone’s got to have one.”

“That’s okay. I’d rather sit here with you.” Oh. “So. Confession time.” She takes a breath and Kate holds hers. “I didn’t mean to bring you here. I wanted to take you to the lighthouse. I guess I’m not as ready as I thought I was.”

She looks toward the lighthouse. It’s been abandoned for years but people go up there to party. She didn’t know it meant anything to Max but those pictures from when she and Chloe were kids were taken there. It makes sense. “You shouldn’t push yourself.”

“But I should. You know… up till the second week of this month I never pushed myself to do anything except photography.” She frowns. She’s found a twig lying on the beach and draws a triangle design in the sand. “Life _is_ short, Kate. And shitty. And people die too young. Terrible things happen to good people. It just sucks. What happened shouldn’t have happened. And now we’re going to be stuck with all these awful memories.”

Max found Chloe in the bathroom, bleeding out. Kate can’t imagine it. “I know it’s hard but life isn’t all bad.” She wraps her fingers around Max’s wrist before they slide over her hand, their fingertips burrowing in the cool sand. “I tried to kill myself. I felt hopeless.” That wasn’t even a month ago. “But things are so much better now. At the time I didn’t think there could be any light in my world. Any goodness. I drank a little wine at a party so I thought I deserved it. And everyone told me I deserved it and I believed it. But good things have happened. Victoria’s been nice. Everyone at school has been nice. And there’s been you, Max. When everything was unbearable you didn’t let me down. Even when I was hurting and pushed you away. You’ve been an angel.”

The words shouldn’t hurt her but they seem to. She looks guilty. “Yeah, well, spoiler alert. I— um.” She looks out at the water. “I like you. Like… more than just friends.” Max’s fingers loosen on her own, providing opportunity for escape. Kate’s hand tightens on Max’s. She forces herself not to pull it away. “I’m sorry. That’s probably weird.”

“Maybe a little.” Or different. Or unexpected. Or neither. Maybe it’s what she wanted to hear, even if having heard it, she doesn’t know how to respond. Not without moving further from how she was raised.

“I mean—that isn’t why I did anything, Kate. You have to believe me.” Kate believes her. She looks at Max, seeing her through the makeup. “And there’s nothing you did that made it okay for what happened to you to happen. A lot went down this month. Everything’s been crazy. Just… all over the place. And all I want is someone to tell. But it’s so… fucking crazy that no one would ever believe it.”

“I’d believe you.”

“This? I’m not sure.” A beat. “I miss when I could say everything the perfect way.”

When could she do that? “So what is it?” Max is quiet. “It’s okay. If you’re not ready, you don’t have to say.”

Max turns her hand beneath the sand and their fingers hook together. Kate tries to ignore her stomach tying itself into knots, her heart trying to force its way out of her chest. “All I can say is that you’ve been the only constant throughout.”

Kate doesn’t understand. Max is close. Real close. “Max…?” She’s barely said the name. Her throat is dry. “Do you want to kiss me?” She isn’t sure if it’s a question or an invitation. Maybe it’s both. Maybe she senses it’s what Max wants and she wants to comfort her. Even if she wants to throw up from nerves, anxiety, from the memories. Maybe she can’t sit still because she hasn’t been able to do it ‘right’.

Max’s chest heaves. “Would that be all right?” She doesn’t know. She wants her to. It leaves her breathless to realize it. But now that she knows, how does she come to terms with it? Does she walk away? She doesn’t have her cross. She doesn’t even have her face. Are they bad? Is this some other thing that can damn her to hell? Damn them both? “You can say ‘no’. I know I look awful.”

“You look beautiful.” She doesn’t know why she says that, even if she means it. Max, painted like death, her own face painted similarly. What’s beautiful about that? “It’s all right. It’s all right.” She tells Max. She tells herself.

Max smiles, her masked face soft, like her lips, like her own shyly returning the kiss. Kate tastes their chalky makeup before finding Max’s flesh beneath. The waves wash against their feet, against their fingers still curled in the sand. But her face is warm. This is sin. She was raised to believe that. But everyone sins. What’s wrong with this? What can be wrong if it’s Max who kisses her? Max, who’s the purest soul she knows. Max who saved her. She struggles with it but doesn’t let it stop her.

If she wears a mask, maybe it’s all right.

\-----

A/N: I can do fluff! This was fluff, right? I think? Wet Sand next time, for that one crack shipper who's right there with me. (There's got to be like one, right?)

 


	19. Wet Sand pt 3

Chloe hasn’t texted in days and Victoria doesn’t know if it’s because of their most recent argument or because she’s still moping after Rachel Amber. It’s likely both. Victoria’s lost track of how many times they’ve said that it’s over before running into each other by Frank’s trailer at the beach and barely making it back to her dump of a truck for a heated and uncomfortable screw.

What the fuck is she doing hanging around with a loser like Chloe Price anyway? She lacks any kind of direction or ambition. All she’s good for is a lay and weed. Going over is always a disaster. There is something seriously wrong with her stepfather. She didn’t think anyone could have a bigger chip on their shoulder than Chloe and hello, there’s David Madsen. He caught her there exactly one time and freaked. If any of her friends find out she’ll never hear the end of it.

To make matters worse, Nathan’s been acting like a mental case. She knows he sees a psychiatrist and hopes he’s taking his meds. Bringing it up won’t do anything but piss him off and she’s got enough to deal with.

An IM window pops open on her FB page. Chloe, with her try-hard avatar, flicking the photographer off. Probably a selfie. _Sorry I’ve been m.i.a. Stepdouche and mom are out late tonight. Want to have a sleepover?_ Victoria stares at the message. She preps a bowl and gets another message. _I know you’re online. Do you want to hang out or not?_

Victoria puts the pipe aside. _That depends. Are you going to be an asshole?_

_Probably._ Victoria gets ready to respond but stops when she sees Chloe’s typing again. _I’m not comfortable going over there, okay? Come on, we have a few screaming matches to catch up on._ More typing. _We can try that thing again._

Victoria smiles faintly. _It’s not like I have anything better to do. C U soon. Xoxo._ She’s startled by the small current of excitement.

*

She cabs there and arrives when night has already fallen. She doesn’t bother knocking because Chloe hasn’t texted her about a change of plans. Likely she’s already stoned off her ass. She walks inside. There’s a few lamps on, enough light to guide her up to Chloe’s disaster of a room. She’s got some soft emo guitar shit playing and another fucking stack of Rachel Amber flyers. Victoria locks the door and drops her purse on the floor.

Chloe lifts her head to look at her, the familiar joint tucked between her index and middle finger. “This place is a sty,” Victoria complains for probably the tenth time. She crawls onto the bed. Normally Chloe makes some crack about how she comes over anyway but not this time. She sits up, setting the joint aside. For a moment looks like someone else. Someone startled and afraid. “What’s with you?”

Chloe takes her hand. It’s cold. Victoria’s fingers start to curl around hers but Chloe jumps to her feet. Victoria doesn’t know if she didn’t notice or was just eager to get away. “So, since I know you’ve got no fucking taste in music, I’m going to switch it up to something more along your speed.” She switches to the radio, flipping through the stations until she finds the one Victoria tunes to when she’s in her truck. It comes across clear here, unlike the static-y noise of the truck. Victoria’s thought about replacing it but that would be crazy. Why would she do that? Heavy bass fills the room.

“You’re a real bad bitch when David Madsen isn’t home.”

“What can I say? I’m a rebel.” She pops open her mini-fridge and takes out two beers, chucking one of the BPRs to Victoria, who dodges it and lets it roll harmlessly to the pillow. “Nice catch, Princess.” She pops open the can and swaggers closer, having a sip and setting it aside on the nightstand.

“How long are your parents out?”

She makes a face at that, taking a hard seat at the edge of the bed. “Long enough that you can crash without them taking notice.” She touches her face more carefully than she ever has and kisses her. They follow the usual routine at a slower pace. Victoria goes with it because it doesn’t feel terrible. They try that thing again and Victoria holds on to her arms, looking down at her flushed face, focusing on her breath and eyes. Chloe Price is beautiful. Jesus fuck, why didn’t she realize it before?

*

The window is propped open and they’ve put their toy away.

Victoria first found it while snooping through Chloe’s things. It was unexpected after the number of shoeboxes stuffed with old letters, drawings, pictures of some rando Max Caulfield, and stupid mementos of Rachel Amber. Victoria laughed until she cried. It was just… so ridiculous. Chloe had gone to fetch them beers and she’d stopped at the door, holding them like an idiot while Victoria held up the piece.

She didn’t think Chloe’s face could get that red. _Did you use this on Rachel Amber?_ She didn’t think she could get that angry. That wasn’t their first blow up but it was their worst one. It didn’t make any sense to her. What’s the point if you’re a dyke? Chloe said she wasn’t, Victoria rolled her eyes and that was another fight. Chloe swore and called her names and Victoria ended up leaving. Their fights lack sophistication, probably because Chloe is always too stoned or stupid to be particularly clever or cutting. Even so, their arguments always leave her in a shit mood.

They’re not arguing now but she knows it won’t be long. A fuck always seems to be their go to solution for their problems. She’s smart enough to know it’s unhealthy but hasn’t found a compelling enough reason to let it go. Is she bored? Does she want to feel rebellious? Is she still pissed at fucking Rachel Amber? She’s young and the sex is good. It’s not like she’s settling down.

They’ve given up on their beers that have gone lukewarm and lie beneath a thin sheet facing one another. Chloe trails a hand along her arm and Victoria moves closer. Chloe is softer when she’s naked. Better that than the armor masquerading as a hipster wardrobe. Victoria lifts a hand to Chloe’s hair. The red is growing out. “If you stop dyeing your hair you might look like someone I can be seen in public with.”

“Yeah, right.”

Victoria doesn’t know whether Chloe doubts that she’d let them be seen together in public or if she’s going to insist on continuing to destroy her hair. “Want to tell me why you haven’t been around? You’re not giving up on being a delinquent, are you?” What would she tease her about? She knows Wells and Madsen don’t want her hanging around Blackwell but since when has that ever stopped her?

“And stop being a constant disappointment to mom and stepdick? Not likely.”

Victoria settles a hand at her waist. “So?”

“Something happened.” Chloe’s eyes flick everywhere except to her. “It was nasty and it freaked me out, all right?”

“I can’t imagine anything that would scare a bad ass like you.”

“Can you not make fucking jokes? I don’t want to talk about it. Blackwell’s full of assholes. Big fucking surprise.” Her eyes have a shine in the darkness.

Victoria doesn’t doubt Chloe thinks she’s one of them. She pulls her hand back, not entirely sure on how to talk to her. Not sure that Chloe ever wants to talk. It’s their fault. They skipped right to the sex within an hour of meeting each other. How fucking stupid. Her eyes water and doesn’t know why. She pulls away, turning her back to her.

Chloe lights up a joint. Victoria takes in the smell, focusing on how her weight shifts on the bed, trying to get a reading on her through that because it’s easier than having an honest conversation with her. Chloe taps her shoulder, tries to offer a hit but Victoria shrugs her away. The bed shifts again and Chloe scoots closer. Her finger traces some design along her back. Victoria closes her eyes, feeling the anger stripping away again. Hormones are a real mind fuck. Chloe presses a kiss to her shoulder and Victoria grits her jaw, needing to speak before they fall into their vicious cycle again.

“I know you think I’m some pampered Blackwell asshole. My family’s rich. Sue me.”

Chloe’s hand slides along her thighs. “If nothing else there’d be a fat payday in it for me.”

“Jesus, will you fucking stop?”

Chloe stops. Victoria faces her, glaring. “What?”

“I’m trying to fucking talk to you.”

“That’s a first.”

“Oh, don’t give me that.”

“No, I’m serious. When do you ever want to talk? You’re not happy unless you’re talking down to me.”

Her face heats. “I’m trying to talk to you now.”

“Fine. Talk.” Victoria glowers. She stands up and begins yanking her clothes on. Chloe sits up uncertainly, looking from the smoking joint to her. Finally she gets to her feet, slipping into her underwear and a tanktop. “Want me to give you a ride back?” she sighs. “We can go out the window.”

“No thanks.”

“Come on, don’t be pissed. I can’t handle someone else being pissed off at me.”

“Then stop being an asshole, get your head out of your ass and grow up a little.” Chloe lifts her hands, looking desperately to the door. Oh, that’s right. She has to keep her voice down because Chloe, the high school dropout, refuses to get a job and move out and get her own place. With all the shit that goes on in Blackwell, how big of a fuckup do you have to be to get kicked out? Jesus, why is she wasting her time with this girl?

“What’s your problem?”

“I don’t know, Chloe. Maybe the fact that I could replace you with an inflatable doll and get more conversation out of it? Jesus, you’re like a broken record. When it’s not stepdouche, it’s fucking Rachel Amber. Me, me, me. Christ, people think _I’m_ narcissistic.” Chloe looks away. “You know, I’ve been telling you for weeks about this big project I had to get ready for Mr. Jefferson and you haven’t asked about it or how it went or—”

“How’d it go?”

“Fuck! Are you brain damaged? You don’t get to bring it up after I mention that you didn’t bring it up!”

“What do you want from me? I’m not your boyfriend. I’m not your girlfriend. Like I don’t get fucking tired about hearing about Mr. Jefferson or your ten year plan? How about what an asshole Zach fucking Riggins is for not dumping Juliet for you? Maybe he doesn’t want you because you go out of your way to be a complete bitch.”

As if that’s the first time she’s fucking heard that. So why does it hurt? She snatches up her purse from the floor and moves to the window, beginning the climb out. “Fuck you, Chloe. Forget it, all right? We’re done.”

*

The humidity makes the night startlingly chilly. She left her goddamn phone at Chloe’s and she’s too proud to go back. Now she has to walk back to Blackwell and all she’s wearing is a skirt and her too-thin cardigan. She hears the rumble of Chloe’s truck and keeps walking, even when she flashes the headlights at her. The streets are deserted, Arcadia Bay a ghost town at this time of night. She wouldn’t even be in this town if it weren’t for Mr. Jefferson.

Chloe drives alongside her. “Get in.”

“No.”

“Come on, please? Stepdouche heard me start it up and he’s really going to let me fucking have it for taking off in the middle of the night.”

“I don’t care.”

“I didn’t mean what I said. I’m stressed, all right? I mean— Jesus, you want me to talk to you but every time I bring up Rachel Amber you get pissed. She was my friend, okay? She was my best friend. Something happened to her. She wouldn’t just take off.”

“That’s what you think.”

“We were supposed to bail this shithole together. That was the plan. That was always the plan. I know she wouldn’t go without me. I just—I have this really sick feeling about it in the pit of my stomach.”

Victoria does too but not for the same reasons as Chloe. There are rumors going around that Rachel was sleeping with Mr. Jefferson. Why does everyone that matters to her prefer someone else? She’s beautiful, she’s smart, rich, fashionable, a killer photographer. What the hell else do people want? “I’m just tired of talking about her, okay? Nathan won’t shut up about her either.” Chloe’s quiet and the next few minutes are spent with Victoria hoping and dreading that Chloe will take off.

They pass by the Two Whales diner. “What did you want to tell me earlier?” she asks. “You know, before I pissed you off. Again.”

Victoria shoots her a sharp look. “I was going to tell you that I can be a really good listener.”

Chloe cracks a smile and Victoria’s pissed before she gets the irony. Chloe cruises alongside of her and Victoria listens to the rumble of the truck, taking in the wave of warm air coming from it. “So. I did something stupid.” Victoria bites her tongue. _What else is new?_ “I know we fight a lot. And maybe I am a complete loser like stepdouche thinks. I don’t have a lot of options. I don’t exactly have a lot of skills. Or a great work history. I need cash, all right? A lot of it. Why do you think I haven’t paid you back for all those IOUs?”

“Terrible budgeting skills?”

“I tried to get some money a few weeks back. You know. For—” Victoria looks at her. “I just needed it. Anyway, it completely backfired. Na—I mean, some asshole drugged me. I still don’t know how it fucking happened. I thought I was so fucking smart. I didn’t think something like that could ever happen to me. It still happened anyway. And I know that doesn’t excuse all the shit I’ve said or how I’ve acted but that’s why I haven’t been around.”

Victoria stops. “Jesus. I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

The response surprises her. Why? Who does she think she is? “Yeah. I am now. For a few days I felt really fucked up. I don’t know what he put in my drink but I was afraid to go to the hospital. I was afraid the police would show up and—I mean, that’s the last thing mom needs.”

“Do you know who it was?”

She scratches her neck. “No. Sorry. I didn’t get a good look at him. I just know he’s a Blackwell student. I didn’t want to fight with you about it.”

“Why would I fight with you about that?” It makes no sense. “That is so fucked.”

She takes a breath. “Yeah.”

“Did— I mean… did he hurt you in some other way?”

“No. It’s cool. I broke a lamp and got loose. Somehow.” Victoria frowns lightly. “Will you get in the truck now, please?” Victoria gets in. Chloe waits for her to strap on her seatbelt before the truck gets moving again. “It was real good seeing you tonight. You know—it doesn’t make you gay. Or me straight.”

“Oh, good. I was worried.” She doesn’t know if she’s being sarcastic or not.

“It’s um. You’re uh—really learning your way around that thing,” she says with a nervous laugh.

Victoria looks at her face, getting redder by the second. “What can I say? You make it fun.” Not that she ever thought she’d do something like that. How the tables have turned. “And maybe I prefer you to a blowup doll.”

“Just maybe?”

“Yeah, just maybe.” Chloe smiles. “Why’d you even get that thing, anyway?”

Chloe looks at her. “I don’t know. I guess I was curious.”

Victoria believes her. Curiosity made her try the damn thing out. “Did… you want to talk some more about what happened?”

“With the roofie asshole, you mean? No. I’d rather forget it.”

“But what if he does it to someone else?”

“I hope he’s smarter than that. Or nicer than that. Shit, I don’t know.” Her hands are white on the steering wheel, looking at her anxiously.

Victoria unbuckles her seatbelt and slides over to her, resting her head on Chloe’s shoulder. Chloe looks at her, startled, slowing the truck but continuing to drive. “That would have scared the shit out of me.”

“Yeah. It sucked. I’m glad it wasn’t you. Real glad.”

“You should have told me. Or someone else. Someone you trust.” She hates sounding like an after school special.

“You’re not so bad. Anyway—I didn’t really know how to say. Can we lay off it now?” Victoria nods. They arrive at Blackwell minutes later. Chloe pulls the truck into the parking lot, turning the lights off but leaving the engine running. “Thanks for letting me give you a lift. Lots of shitheads in Arcadia Bay.” She takes another breath. “I know I get obsessed at times. And I know I’ve racked up… like ten grand in all the credit I owe you. But I like hanging out.”

“You like the sex.”

“I _love_ the sex,” she grins. “But you’re hot. And you’re _smart_ ,” she says remorsefully. “We run in different circles. And— I’m a fuckup.” Her fingers tap on the steering wheel. “Tell me it’s not true.”

“Oh, it’s true.” She sighs. But there’s something about her sincerity in the face of the tough façade she tries to put on that appeals to her. Maybe she’s tired of the Vortex Club drama and the way everyone dulls what they’re feeling with drugs. Not that Chloe doesn’t medicate. Fuck, maybe she’s looking to be the tortured artist instead of the polished one. People tell her her shots are cold and perfect. As if those things were wrong. Why is it that suffering and hardship is what makes art worthwhile?

She leans over and kisses her. Chloe responds, a hand tentatively brushing over her hair. Victoria turns the truck off and pockets the keys. “Stay the night? Maybe we can make it the next few hours without being complete shitheads.” Chloe doesn’t smile and maybe she’s feeling sensitive. She’s trying and it doesn’t seem to make any difference. She grabs her purse. “Whatever. I guess I’ll see you around.” She leaves the truck, slamming the door shut and walking back to her dorm room. A few minutes later she hears pebbles hitting her window. Victoria opens the window and Chloe climbs in. “I thought you were busy pouting.”

“You know how I feel about hanging around here. And you took my keys.” Oh. Victoria fetches them from her purse and gives them to her. Chloe holds on to them. “You’re not planning on having your friends over, are you? I’ll stay—but only if it’s just the two of us.”

“When have I _ever_ had anyone over when you’re here?” Chloe shuffles. Victoria exhales tiredly. “I’m going to take a shower. Make yourself at home and try not to steal everything or destroy any more of my shit while I’m gone?”

Chloe raises a hand, scouts honor, some sort of pledge. Victoria doesn’t know. Chloe turns on the tv and Victoria gathers her belongings. She’s at the door when Chloe takes her arm and pulls her into a hug. It’s tight and a little desperate. Victoria frowns. Chloe pats her back and kisses her quick. “All right. Have fun. And. Um. Thanks for listening.”

“Yeah, of course,” Victoria grumbles. Idiot. Both of them.

She walks out the door and to the bathroom, passing three Rachel Amber posters on the way. Stupid Rachel Amber. She’s left town and everyone’s still talking about her. She tears the flyers down, crumpling them and tossing them into the trash. Stupid obsessive nerd. And stupid her for being jealous of a girl who’s never coming back. For being jealous of a girl for Chloe fucking Price.

 

\-----

A/N: Aww, OTP. It took me way too long to post this. Sorry!


End file.
